Audrey in Wonderland
by Cotille S
Summary: Audrey Thompson has read herself into an alternate universe. A universe where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are real, not fictional characters. Needless to say, hilarity ensues. (Inspired by the Inkheart trilogy. Eventual Sherlock/OC romance.)
1. Delusional Cat Lady

**a/n This story was inspired by the Inkheart trilogy, where the main character has the power to read herself into books. For the sake of the story, I had to change the Sherlock television series into a book series. But all the characters and scenarios are the same. Hope you enjoy it and please review! **

* * *

'FOR FECK SAKE!' I cry out in frustrartion, staring miserably at my computer screen. The wifi in this apartment had to be the single most infuriating piece of nothing I ever had the misfortune to see. I had a 3,500 word assignment due the next morning and the insubordinate wifi was allowing me to get to_, _hmm let's see, _roughly 500 words_.

To say I was in a bad mood was an understatement. I was in an_ extremely_ very not good mood. My second semester in King's College was almost at an end, and I still felt more out of place here in London than if I was stranded on an island in the middle of the Pacific with all but meerkats to keep me company.

'At least the meerkats wouldn't make fun of my accent..' I grumble to myself. I felt like a complete pleb with my Irish accent, especially around the lah-di-dah, my-Bentley-is-bigger-than-yours (yes I did mean that as a euphemism), Made-in-Chelsea-wannabes that pratted around campus.

'Right' I sigh, snapping my laptop shut. I was getting nowhere with the essay, and did not intend on spending the evening_ willing _the infuriating little yellow exclamation sign over the wifi icon to kindly _fuck the bloody hell off_. I haul myself from the couch and make my way over to the kitchen, stubbing my toe on the doorstopper in the process (cue colourful profanities), to make a cup of tea. I hobble back to my bedroom, to nurse my very nearly broken toe, grabbing my book on the way. I had recently become obsessed with the new Sherlock series. The books were a modern twist on Conan Doyle's works. Plus the more modern Sherlock was a total babe. Well, he was in my opinion, anyway. I settle into the pillows and soon become lost in the pages.

'Heuheuheu' I chuckle. 'Catsby, hey Catsby listen to this.' The fat Persian cat napping at my feet lazily opens one eye. 'This is funny, listen:

"You took your time.

Yeah I didn't get the shopping.

What? Why not?

Because I had a row in the shop with a chip and PIN machine.

You had a row with a machine?

Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse."

I continued to chuckle until I heard 'Have you got cash?' coming from the kitchen. I gulped, stopping mid-chuckle. Why did it sound like I wasn't the only person in my apartment?

'No, take my card.' Another, deeper voice replied.

Oh shit there are strangers in my apartment. This is it Audrey. This is day you die. Oh crap crapping crap. Okay, calm down, don't cry. I said _don't cry_!

I breathe deeply,fighting back tears. 'Stop being so melodramatic and girly.' I tell myself. 'If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting' I whisper, scooping Catsby up into my arms. That way, any burglar daring enough to mess with me will have to go through Catsby and his claws first. Creeping towards my door, I gently grab the handle. This is it. Go hard or go home. I take a deep breath..

'FOR NARNIA!' I cry, wrenching the door open and charging at the intruders in my apartment.

Or should I say, not my apartment. Because the room I left twenty minutes ago was certainly not this one.

Two men turn to stare at me incredulously, one seated and one standing by the stairway.

'Sherlock' the shorter, grey-haired man says to the other, 'Who the bloody hell is this?'

The dark haired man turns to look at him. 'I should ask you the same thing, John.'

I look from one face to the other, realisation dawning on me. I swear to god I heard a bulb lighting up above my head. Sherlock? ..John?

'Oh you have _got_ to be shitting me.' I utter, completely dumbfounded.

'Sorry, who are you and why are you standing in our living room?' John shakes his head in disbelief and looks down at my arms. 'With a cat?' He asks.

'My thoughts precisely.' Sherlock echoes, rising from his chair to stand in front of me.

'I..I..' I stutter, looking up into the piercing blue eyes staring into my soul. Good god he's beautiful. Dark, curly hair, cheekbones that could slice through brown bread and perfect, cupids bow lips.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. 'John, kindly escort this delusional cat lady out of the apartment.'

The little shit. Delusional? Cat lady?

'Now, hold on one bloody second.' I retort angrily. 'I was just in my room, minding my own business, reading my – Oh' I gasp, looking wide-eyed at both men.

'Oh my Jesus Christ our lord in heaven above and all the divine saints.' I whisper. 'I _read myself_ into the book. I'm_ in_ the book!'

I look around excitedly, still clutching Catsby to my chest. '221B..I'm in 221B!' I dart past Sherlock, running over to the skull on the mantelpiece. 'The skull!' I exclaim happily.

'Yes, I'll thank you _not_ to touch my possessions' Sherlock snatches the skull from my hands, earning a quick biff to the hand from Catsby.

I eye him grumpily. 'Yeah, you're just as snarky as the book describes you.'

John steps towards me, smiling kindly. 'Come on, let's get you back to your own apartment.' He says slowly, as if addressing a mental patient.

'This_ is_ my flat!' I shout. 'I live in number 1 Hyde Park! At least, I did until I discovered I had the magical ability to transport myself into fictional novels.'

'Fictonal?' John stares at me, bewildered. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'You're not real! None of this is! You are characters in a story, a very popular one might I add.' I explain earnestly. They continue to eye me dubiously.

'Fine, don't believe me? Later on today you will find the body of one Eddie VanCoon, dead in his apartment. The police will think it is suicide, but he will be, in fact, shot through the head from outside his window. His assassin will be the one behind all the Black Lotus killings.' I raise my eyebrows in a _deduce-that-motherfucker_ sort of way.

Sherlock brings his hands to his face, thinking. He strides past me and into the kitchen. I turn around to face John, who's watching me sceptically. 'You realise you've just made yourself a prime suspect for the killings.'

Shit. Why did I say that? Damn my vexatious need to constantly sass people.

John looks over my shoulder, frowning at something. 'Sherlock what are you-'

Suddenly a hand snakes around my neck, tilting it upwards and I feel the cold, hard jab of a needle.

'The fuck is – ' I slur, unable to keep my balance. I topple to the floor in a heap, Catsby jumping out of my arms with a strangled hiss.

* * *

I struggle to overcome my unconsciousness.

'..necessary precaution.' I hear a voice say.

'You _drugged_ the girl, Sherlock! You know that's illegal, right?'

Woah, back the fuck up. He _drugged_ me? I squint my eyes, lifting my arm to shield them from the brightness.

'Ahh!' I gasp as a sharp pain shoots up my left arm.

Sherlock smirks. 'I wouldn't do that if I were you.' John looks up quickly and hurries over to take a look at it.

'Oh, for the love of – Sherlock, this is too far! You took a blood sample!?'

Sherlock shrugs. 'I may need it.'

Oh hell no. What the actual almighty fuck? I was literally in the house of a mad man.

I move to sit up, John helping me. I look at my bandaged arm, and then to Sherlock, and then back at my bruised, violated arm.

Oh, I was fuming.

I stand up, stumbling and walk towards him.

'Now listen here, you little fucktard, what the he-' I stop abruptly, my eyes darting around the room. 'Where's Catsby?'

'By Catsby, I assume you are referring to your cat. I locked him in the coat room.' Sherlock sniffs disdainfully.

'WHAT?' I yell, running to free the angry ball of fluff. I lovingly scoop him up into my arms, smirking as he hisses and spits at Sherlock.

I sit on the opposite sofa, both of us giving him the ultimate evils.

A staring match like none other ensues.

John sighs, breaking the silence. 'Well, you were right.' He says to me. 'About VanCoon. Bullet to the head.'

Sherlock sits up. 'Yes, how did you know that?'

I laugh nervously. 'Ha ha ha …. Lucky guess?'

'Hardly.' Sherlock scoffs.

I narrow my eyes at him. 'Fine. I already told you how I got here. It's up to you whether you want to believe me or not.'

He raises his eyebrows. 'You honestly expect us to believe you "read yourself" into existence?'

'Yes.' I reply, as if stating the obvious.

Sherlock rises from his seat. 'I don't have time for this. Come on John. We're going to the Lucky Cat Emporium.'

My ears prick at this. Oh this should be fun.

'Can I come?' I ask innocently.

Sherlock stops, eyeing me suspiciously. 'Why?'

I shrug. 'Well I have nothing better to be doing.'

'Umm…No.'

John puts his arm up to stop him. 'Wait a sec Sherlock. She could be helpful. I mean, she was right about Van Coon.'

Sherlock pauses, refusing to face us.

'Fine.' He says eventually, wrapping his scarf around his neck and stalking out of the room.

John turns to me. 'What about your cat? Er...Catsby?'

'Oh he'll be fine here.' I assured him, petting Catsby on the head, who was now purring contentedly. 'He just sleeps for the day anyway. And don't worry, he's house trained.' I add encouragingly.

'O- kay..' John says warily.

We make our way down the stairs and into the taxi Sherlock was waiting in.

'After you.' John gestures inside the car, raising his arm. I sit, slightly squashed, between both of them. Not the most uncomfortable situation to be in, I think mischievously, giving myself an internal high-five.

John speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. 'I don't even know your name! How rude of me.' He apologises.

I smile. 'Audrey, Audrey Thomspon - Dubois. I'm from Ireland.'

'Who would have guessed?' Sherlock mutters sarcastically.

I throw him a dirty look.

Wait a sec, what in the Bilbo Baggins am I doing just sitting here? This is Sherlock Holmes beside you Audrey, you nimwad. THE Sherlock Holmes!

I glance at him. 'So..Sherlock?' I do a little taptap-tap thing on his arm.

He turns to face me with a look not far off disgust.

'Will you..um..deduce me?' I bat my eyelashes at him. Oh you go girl.

He looks slightly taken aback, but agrees nonetheless.

'Right well first, stating the obvious, you are Irish. I'd say from the midlands. Your accent is from neither Dublin nor Western Ireland. You've moved here to attend University in London. You're from a wealthy background, judging by your decision to study here rather than Ireland. That's quite the commitment, financially of course. Perhaps UCL or Kings College? You have dark circles around your eyes, though this is common to most students, from looking at your laptop screen for extended periods of time. Your fingernails are cut neatly, which would suggest you spend an amount of time typing essays. So I'd say you're veering towards the Arts degrees – English? Perhaps History? You're 18/19 years of age and in your first year of University. You're sentimental, not used to living on your own, hence the cat. Your mother named you Audrey after the slight resemblance you share with Audrey Hepburn, though how she saw that in you as a baby, I'm not quite sure. You are a film fanatic, especially the classics, judging by your style of clothes – You're wearing an outfit almost identical to that worn by Mrs Hepburn herself in Roman Holiday.'

'Woah.' I sighed, my inner fangirl swooning.

'So you think I look like Audrey Hepburn?' I asked sweetly.

'I said your face bears a _slight _resemblance. Other than that you look nothing like her, you're too..' He gestures to my body '...small.'

I huff and turn away from him. Prat.

* * *

'Sherlock, you can't just break into someone's apartment.' I say, glancing around to check of anyone noticed him pulling the ladder down.

'Yes I can.' He proceeds to climb up said ladder.

I sigh. There's no use in trying. I know how the story goes anyway. John however, is looking rightly pissed.

'I'm not the first!' We hear a muffled shout coming from the window above.

'What?' John asks.

'He said he's not the first, there's already been someone in there before him.' I explain.

Sherlock shouts down some more incomprehensible nonsense.

'What are you saying?' John looks up tiredly. There is no reply.

He sighs in exasperation. 'I'm wasting my breath.'

I nod sympathetically and pat his arm. 'How's Sarah?' I inquire.

John looks at me. 'Wha- How do you know about Sarah?'

I tap my head and give him a knowing look.

John stares back at me as though I was a lunatic.

He sighs again and begins pacing the ground. 'Anytime you want to include me.' He shouts up to Sherlock. 'No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with ...'

Oh crap. Balls. 'N-No John, I really wouldn't say that.' I warn him.

'... my MASSIVE INTELLECT!' He finishes.

Shit. Too late. I grab both his arms and turn him to face me. 'John, whatever you do, DO NOT order Chinese with Sarah after your date tonight.'

'How do you know I have a date?'

'Doesn't matter.' I cut across him. 'Promise me?'

'Alright.. I promise.' He replies, bewildered.

Moments later Sherlock emerges from the front door, massaging his neck. I smirk.

'The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.'

'Somebody?' John asks.

Sherlock nods. 'Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her.'

'But how, exactly?'

Sherlock picks up a folded envelope. On the back of it is written:  
SOO LIN  
Please ring me. Tell me you're OK.  
Andy

He unfolds the envelope and looks at the front of it. Printed in the bottom right hand corner is: NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM

'Maybe we could start with this.' Sherlock points to the envelope.

'Sherlock, you've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?' I ask him, feigning concern.

He glares at me and coughs. 'I'm fine.'

I snigger. Audrey 1 / Sherlock 0.

* * *

'So, tell me Audrey. If we are fictional characters that belong in a story, how does it end? Tragically, I daresay.' Sherlock inquires, leaning forward in his chair.

The little shit. 'Uh, I haven't read that far.' I lie, recovering from the feels. 'So does that mean that you believe me then?'

Sherlock casts me a haughty glance. 'I never had much time for stories, fairy tales. It's just silly nonsense.'

'Every fairy tale needs a good old – fashioned villain.' I mumble absentmindedly.

'What was that?' Sherlock asks sharply.

'Uh nothing.' I reply quickly. 'Just talking to myself.'

Wow. Way to go Audrey. Now he'll think you're in co-hoots with Moriarty. CO-HOOTS.

'Anyone seen Mrs Hudson? I was meant to move that dresser for her.' John asks from the doorway.

'Yes, come to think of it' Sherlock says, sitting up. 'I haven't seen her since this morning.'

John glances at the stairway worriedly. 'You don't think something's happened to her?'

I frown. I don't remember the disappearance of Mrs Hudson being a chapter in the book.

'Only one way to find out.' I say and brush past John towards the stairs.

I push Mrs Hudson's door open, only to find the flat empty. A tea cup and saucer lay broken on the floor in the middle of the room, as though she had vanished into thin air and dropped them.

'There's no sign of a forced entry.' Sherlock observes from behind me.

Vanished. Thin. Air.

Oh crumbs.

I turn to look at John and Sherlock.

'I came in to the story..' I say slowly. '..and Mrs Hudson went out.'

_~Meanwhile in the real world~ _

'Well, at least she has good taste.' Mrs Hudson remarks as she observes the kitchen she suddenly found herself in this morning.

She checks the time. 'Six O' clock. I hope Sherlock has eaten something.' She bustles about the kitchen, locating a cup and the tea bags. 'That boy is much too skinny.' She mutters.

She sips her tea from a blue telephone box mug and sits gingerly on the sofa.

'Now, how do I get out of here?'


	2. 10 Points to Gryffindor

**a/n: Credit for dialogue I used that's seen in the show goes to ****Ariane DeVere - Sherlock Transcript: "The Blind Banker" on livejournal. Enjoy and please leave a comment or review, I'd love to hear what you guys think of it so far! **

* * *

_Poor Mrs Hudson..she must be so confused, _I think as I root around the kitchen cupboards for something to feed Catsby. Preferably NOT human body parts. Finally, after battling my way through thumbs, blood samples and what looked like a jar of pickled eyeballs (don't even ask) in the fridge, I located a rather fossilised tin of tuna. I stick my head out the kitchen door, looking for Sherlock.

'Oi, this tin of tuna, is it okay to feed Catsby with? I mean, he won't contract some alien virus and...die?'

Sherlock, who had been researching my 'problem' (as he so kindly put it), looks up from his laptop, frowning. 'Our landlady has been transported to another dimension, grâce à vous, and right now you're more concerned about the wellbeing of your over-fed cat?'

Oh he did not just call Catsby fat. Someone hold my earrings.

'Okay, firstly, _Catsby is not over-fed._ Secondly, I am very concerned for Mrs Hudson and feel truly awful for sending an unsuspecting elderly woman to an alternate universe, but I have _no idea_ how I did it! And thirdly, is the tuna contaminated or not?'

Sherlock sniffs and resumes reading. _I'll take that as a no then._

'You know, I'm not being purposely useless.' I say as I gingerly inspect the contents of the tin for any sign of radioactivation. 'Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.' Content with my inspection, I begin spooning the mushy fish into Sherlock's favourite mug, sniggering as I do so. 'I mean, who knew my voice held such immense powers?'

Sherlock's back is turned to me but I can practically _see_ his eyes rolling. 'Well, I've found nothing of use on this incompetent thing.' He sighs and dramatically hurls John's laptop from his knees. 'Time for option two.' He rises from the armchair and into the kitchen, flinging the fridge open.

'What's that then?' I ask, now spoon-feeding a struggling Catsby, who gave his dinner one sniff and scarpered.

He remerges, holding a small a vile of blood between his index finger and thumb. 'DNA test. I think a trip to St. Barts is in order.' He says, and pockets the tube. Shrugging his coat on, he looks around the room. 'Where's John?'

I look up at him incredulously. 'What do you mean _where's John? _You gave him tickets for some Chinese show thingy for his date with Sarah.' He continues to stare at me blankly. 'Literally just an hour ago.' I add.

'Oh, I see.' He bites his lip, thinking. 'Well, you'll just have to do then.' He decides and pulls me to a standing position. I yank my arm out of his, rubbing it. 'What? Why do I have to come?' I whine, looking outside the window. 'It's dark and St. Barts will be closed by now!'

Sherlock grins wickedly. 'Not if Molly's still there.'

Anger flashes through me. 'Now listen here you little mudblood, Molly Hooper _does not deserve to be used.'_

'What is a mu-' I cut him off.

'I know the little mind games you play with her, complimenting her so you can inspect the newest batch of carcasses!'

Sherlock scoffs at this.

I stand up on tiptoe to reach his eye-level. Well, chin-level, but it was the best I could do. 'Not on my watch buddy.'

Sherlock narrows his eyes and detaches himself from my grip. 'I haven't faintest idea of what you're talking about.' He straightens his coat and flounces from the room.

* * *

'Hello Molly.' Sherlock loudly announces himself behind the unsuspecting girl.

She jumps and hits against the table, metal instruments flying to the ground. 'Sh-Sherlock! I didn't hear you come in!'

Sherlock had already strode past her and began setting up the microscope. I turn to face Molly apologetically. 'Sorry for barging in like this.'

'Oh no it's fine,' She waves me off. 'I'm u-'

'Used to it?' I finish for her. 'You know, I really applaud you for putting up with this git.' I sigh, catching Sherlock throwing me a look of utmost contempt. 'You go girl. High five!' I raised my arm, grinning at her.

'Uh..thanks.' She says and awkwardly taps my hand with hers. 'Sorry, what was your name?'

'Oh' I laugh, 'Sorry, my name's –'

'AUDREY' Sherlock yells at me from across the room. I sigh and slowly make my way over towards him.

'What?'

'Hold this.' He hands me the vile containing my blood.

I smirk. 'Good luck trying to find anything on me. Pretty impossible since, technically, I don't actually exist here.' Molly looks up from her work, confused.

'What do you mean you don't exist?' She asks.

'Oh, I'm not from this world. I read myself here.' I explain.

'You..read yourself here?' Molly asks, disbelievingly.

'Yeah, it's you guys that don't exist. You're fictional.' I shrug. 'Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.'

'Yes, Audrey _you can shut up any time you like now._' Sherlock warns, not taking his eyes off the microscope.

I flip him off and turn back to Molly. 'I'm not crazy. Promise.'

An hour later and boredom was slowly beginning to take over. I decided to see how long I could stare at Sherlock before he began to sense my penetrating gaze.

The answer is a very, very long time.

God he's annoying.

Two cups of coffee and a pair of watering eyes later, Sherlock admits the inevitable.

'Nothing!' He exclaims. 'I can find absolutely _nothing _wrong with you, your bloods are perfect!'

'Awh, thanks babe.' I say, winking at him.

He clears his throat, grabbing his coat and pulling it back on. 'Can we go gatecrash John's date now?' I ask innocently.

Sherlock eyes me suspiciously. 'Does this happen in the book?'

I tap my nose, saying nothing. He yanks me up from the floor, none too gentle, once again and pulls me after him.

'Bye Molly!' I wave at her. 'See you soon. Oh and do me a favour? Don't go on any dates with Jim.' I add.

'Who's..Jim?'

I shake my head at her. 'Just promise!' I shout back as the doors close behind us.

* * *

'Actually, I have three in that name.' I hear the ticket manager say to John and Sarah.

'No, I don't think so. We only booked two.' John replies confusedly.

Oh Sherlock, you bad man.

'And then I phoned back and got one for myself as well.' Sherlock and I appear behind them.

John looks at Sherlock in disbelief.

'I'm sorry John, this wasn't my idea, it was all him!' I point up at Sherlock.

Sarah looks at us rather awkwardly.

'Hi!' I say, extending my hand. 'I'm Audrey.'

'Er, hi.' She says, smiling nervously.

John and Sherlock continue in their silent staring battle.

'John,' Sarah touches his arm. 'I'm going to nip to the loo before the show begins.'

He smiles and nods at her.

'I'll come with.' I say, smiling over at Sarah.

The bathroom is quite small, so there's only enough room for one toilet. I wait for Sarah and awkwardly attempt to converse with her while she's still in there.

'Listen, when you go back to the flat with John after this, don't order any take away or anything that involves answering the door.'

She emerges from the bathroom, perplexed.

'How do you know I'm going to go back to his flat?' She asks, raising an eyebrow.

I grin. 'Course you will, John's a total lad.'

She continues to look at me strangely, but laughs. We exit the bathroom and begin our way up the stairs when I remember-

'Wait.' I pull her back, listening.

'What, what is it?' She looks back at me.

I continue to listen, waiting for-

'... while I'm trying to get off with Sarah!' I hear John say exasperatedly.

'Okay,' I smile. 'Now we can go.'

She gives me a quizzical look, but gives no sign of having heard John. Oh Aud, you sly fox, you.

Instrumental music begins as we enter the performance area. A figure emerges, wearing chainmail and an ornamental head mask.

'Oh I have _got_ to get me one of them.' I whisper. Sherlock turns back to look at me oddly.

The warrior-like figure holds his arms out to the sides and two men come over and start to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him and then backing him up against the board and starting to chain him to it.

'Classic Chinese escapology act.' Sherlock leans forward and whispers to John and Sarah.

'Hmm?' John turns back to him.

'The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.' Sherlock explains.

He moves back and casts me a smug glance.

Eejit.

The woman dressed in traditional Chinese costume picks up a small knife and displays it to the audience.

Once again, to my undisguised annoyance, Sherlock leans forward and explains what is about to happen.

'She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl.'

Just as Sherlock predicted, the woman up to the sandbag and stabs it in the bottom, making a hole. He smirks at me.

'_Yeah, yeah, ten points for bloody Gryffindor_.' I mutter under my breath.

Just as the act is finished, and the man has freed himself from the chains, I notice that Sherlock has disappeared.

About time, he needs a good beating.

I sigh and check my watch, waiting. Five, four, three, two, one – On cue, Sherlock and the masked figure come flying out of the curtains, landing on the ground below. John is on the move immediately, charging at Sherlock's attacker.

I stay behind, watching and giggling like a crazy person.


	3. Leave Mulan Alone

**A basket of chocolate cookies to anyone who sees the movie quote! **

* * *

As Sherlock and the masked figure continue to roll around on the floor, John makes a feeble attempt to intervene. Well, I'm sure he considered it a rather heroic act but, come on, look at the size of him. Evidently, this act of gallantry sends John flying across the room like a rag doll. A little, cute hedgehoggy ragdoll. A little, cute, hedgehoggy ragdoll with tiny – _Hold on a sec, _I look around me, _Where the bloody hell is Sarah? _

I turn to catch sight of her long, blonde hair before she disappears amongst the crowd.

'Oh for the love of-!' I exclaim loudly, realising that it's now up to _me_ to save the day. Grabbing the stick that _the silly bitch_ should have used, I charge at the knife-wielding masked figure pining Sherlock down.

'Hey! Over here you big horses ass!' The figure turns to face me and – _BOOM _– I bitch slap him with the wooden pole. He falls to the floor, out cold.

I toss my hair, feeling invincible.

Oh hell yeah you go Aud look at you, you sexy Lara Croft you._ Ballsohardmotherfuckerswanna_ –

Sherlock pushes me aside and grabs the man's right ankle, pulling off his shoe to reveal a Tong tattoo. He then gets off his lazy arse and sprints to the exit.

'Come on, let's go!'

John helps me up and gives me a 'sorry-I-know-he's-an-ignoramus' look. We proceed to chase after said ignoramus.

"_Thanks for saving my life Audrey!" _'Oh, don't worry about it, Sherlock' _"No seriously, I think you're a far-out chick in a happenin' way"_ 'Oh Sherlock, that's so sweet! It was nothing..'

'The Brady Bunch?'

'Huh?' I look up at John

'You realise you were saying that aloud, right?' John says to me, bemused.

* * *

'They'll be back in China by tomorrow.' John says to Sherlock, as he pulls Catsby onto his lap and begins tickling his ears.

'No, they won't leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous.' Sherlock is seated at his desk, an array of photos, drawings and notes littering it.

All this time I'm silent, pondering the almighty mess I'm in_. I mean, don't get me wrong; I'm living the ultimate fan's dream. But, am I going a bit..mad?_ I bring my fingers to my temple, massaging the headache away. _How is it possible that I can read myself into books? The answer is; it's not. And if I can read myself in, can I read something or someone else out? _

My thoughts are interrupted by 'Argh!' followed by a thump and an 'Ow!' as Sherlock flings a book behind him in outrage, hitting John on the head. I sigh. _Well, someone's got to do it.. _

I walk towards Sherlock and lean down over his shoulder, pointing to a photo of the brick wall with the ciphers painted on.

'The numbers are a cipher. Each pair of numbers is a word. Soo Lin had begun translating them.' I tell him and pat his curls. 'You're welcome.'

He looks at me in shock before jumping up and grabbing his scarf.

'Oh, we must have been staring right at it!'

'At-at what?' John asks, confused.

'The _book_, John. The _book_ – the key to cracking the cipher!' He brandishes the photo at John.

'Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.'

And then he's gone, hurrying out the door.

'Look at him, nearly wetting himself with excitement.' I sigh, watching him run down the street.

John chuckles at this, walking towards the stairs.

'Where are you going?'

'To close the door,' John calls up, 'He always leaves it open.'

I scoop Catsby up into my arms, giving him a squeeze. He responds by swatting my cheek with his dumpy little paw.

'Hey now, don't be mea – ' I freeze, realisation slowly dawning.

_Bollocks. _

I drop Catsby and race down the stairs, arriving just in time to see the intruder clobber John around the head with a pistol.

_Merde. _

I turn to scramble back up the stairs but the man grabs my ankle, pulling me back. I attempt to fight back, though that's easier said than done when one decides to wear a classic, below-the-knee length 50's skirt and it bloody well just gets in the way. With one swift movement, the man hits me across the head. Then all I know is blackness.

* * *

When I regain consciousness, I'm sitting on a chair somewhere dark, wrists bound together with rope. A fire is burning in a dustbin behind me. I slowly raise my head, wincing as the bleeding cut on my temple smarts.

'A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket.' A voice says. I look up and see the same woman at the escapology show, though she is not dressed in her oriental costume. John is sitting on a chair to my right, wrists also bound.

'Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes.' The woman says to John.

John looks at her, startled. 'I..I'm not Sherlock Holmes.'

'Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.' She laughs humourlessly. She reaches down and pulls his wallet from his coat pocket. 'Debit, card, Mr. S Holmes.'

'Yes; that's not actually mine. He lent it to me.' John tries to explain.

As John continues to explain the accusations, I search my memory for how this plays itself out_. Okay, so just as John shouts "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock should appear and save the day. Okay, calm down, it'll be fine. _

I look up abruptly as I hear the 'click' from the empty bullet. John's shaking, glancing at me with terrified eyes.

'Oi, General Shan. Leave Mulan alone, he's telling the truth.' I shout over at her.

She looks at me in surprise. 'Let's make a deal, shall we?' She looks back at John. 'Everything has a price in the West; and the price for her life is..' She walks towards me. '..information.' She looks at her men, one of whom now pulls the cover off the large object to reveal the crossbow which was used at the circus. An arrow is already loaded in it.

I gulp. Oh shit.

John looks at me, horrified. 'No, no _please_, you've got to listen to me!'

Shan ignores him, advancing on me. She clicks her finger and points. Seconds later two men are at my side, lifting my chair over in front of the crossbow. Shan turns back to John.

'Where's the hairpin?'

'I..what hairpin?' John tugs at his bonds.

'I need a volunteer for the audience!' Shan exclaims. 'Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you'll do very nicely.' She walks towards me.

'Please. Please, listen to me. I'm not ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You _have_ to believe me. I haven't found whatever it is you're looking for!' John cries out, panicked.

Shan reaches up and slits the sandbag. I watch as the grains fall out, each single one determining whether I live or die.

'Ladies and gentlemen.' She begins. 'From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act.'

'No, _no_…please, _listen to me_!'

Shan laughs, placing a black orchid in my lap.

'_Would you bloody listen to him! He's not Sherlock Holmes_!' I finally cry out.

Shan observes me coldly. 'I don't believe you.' I begin to panic.

'You really should, you know.' Sherlock's voice echoes in the tunnel. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

'Took your sweet time, didn't you?' I shout back at him.

'I wouldn't be making those remarks if I were you Audrey. I'm not the one sitting opposite the crossbow.' He replies nonchalantly.

'How would _you_ describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?' He clicks the "c" on the last word.

'Late.' We both shout at him.

'That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.' Sherlock remarks form the darkness.

'Well?' Shan asks, pointing the pistol.

'Well ...' Sherlock continues, darting out of the shadows to whack one of the men with a metal pole. The man grunts and falls to the ground.

'... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit _anyone_. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit _you.' _He bursts out of the darkness and runs to the nearby burning dustbin, kicking it over and extinguishing the light. Shan squints into the blackness, trying to find him.

I flinch as a hand rests on my shoulder. '_Shh, it's me._' Sherlock whispers and begins undoing the rope around my wrists.

'No, Sherlock, watch out – ' I try to warn him, but the scarf is already wrapped around his neck, dragging him to the ground. As the men continue to struggle, I see John attempting to stand. This is an almost impossible feat, with his hands tied in front of him and attached tightly to the underside of the chair, and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. Nevertheless he manages to stumble forward a couple of paces, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair with him, before he loses his balance and falls onto his side. I stretch my neck around to see that man is right behind me, his back turned to me as he continues to strangle a kneeling Sherlock.

'Oh screw this.' I mutter under my breath. 'Sherlock, keep him there!' I shout and look back at the sandbag, counting down.

'Three, two, one –' Just before the last second I throw all my weight over to one side, knocking myself and the chair over. The arrow zooms over my head and implants itself in the attacker's back with a soft _thud_.

John and Sherlock look at me in surprise. 'Once again, YOU'RE WELCOME.' I shout. 'Can someone please untie me? I'm getting rope burn.' I hear Sherlock chuckling as he works at the knot binding my wrists.

In the taxi home, a thought occurs to me. 'You guys, where am I going to stay? I have nothing, no clothes, no money.'

'Well, you'll stay with us then.' John looks down at me, smiling.

'Uh, John, I don't think you've thought this through.' Sherlock frowns. 'First of all, where is she going to sleep? And I don't know about you, but the last time I checked, I did not own female clothes and undergarments.'

John rolls his eyes and sighs. I giggle cos Sherlock said 'undergarments'.

I stop and think. 'Hang on, what if I could _read _clothes out?'

* * *

'I'm sure you'll find something in here worth finding.' Sherlock walks over to me with a book in hand. I look at it. 'Breakfast in Tiffany's' by Truman Capote.

I smirk and look up at him. 'Why would you have this?' Sherlock ignores the question.

'Well, go on then.' He says impatiently.

I leaf through the book, looking for something small, easy…Ah. _Gotcha_. I clear my throat and begin reading;

_The instant she saw the letter she squinted her eyes and bent her lips in a tough tiny smile that advanced her age immeasurably. _

I stop reading and glance around. I could hear whispers, sort of…echoing the words. I see Sherlock watching me intently. Shaking my head, I continue;

_"Darling," she instructed me, "would you reach in the drawer there and give me my purse. A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick." _

A soft clatter turns all our attention to the kitchen. There, laying on the table, is a small, black cylindrical object. I walk over and take the lipstick in my hands, staring at John and Sherlock in astonishment.

'So it's true.' Sherlock breathes, utterly flabbergasted for once in his life.

* * *

One hour and five books later, I have acquired quite the collection of outfits, ranging from 1920s flapper costumes to Dorothy's red slippers.

'Sherlock,' I call over to him form the book shelf. 'Do you have any, you know, _modern books?_' He raises an eyebrow. 'Don't get me wrong, I love all the classics, but I can't exactly leave the house looking like Daisy Buchanan or Anne of Green Gables every day, now can I?'

'I'll get John to go buy some…magazines tomorrow.' He sniffs distastefully. 'I'm sure you'll find _something _up to your standards.'

I stare at him, gobsmacked, like he's the second coming or something. 'You beautiful genius. You simply _ingenious_ man. _Why didn't I think of that?'_ If I didn't know any better, I'd say Sherlock was getting quite…flustered.

'JOHN. Jooohhhn!' I call, racing to his bedroom and flinging open his door. He looks up form his book, startled. 'Do you or do you not know what Vogue magazine is?' I ask, dead serious.

He just stares at me. 'Uh..yeah I think so.' He says finally.

'Will you buy one for me tomorrow?'

'Okay..then. If it's that important..' He continues to watch me uncertainly.

'Kay thanks love you bye.' I say breathlessly and shut his door, leaving him quite perplexed.

* * *

'Hey, Sherlock?'

'Hmm?' He replies, not looking up from his book.

'Eh, are you using your bed tonight?' I ask sweetly. He looks up now.

'What day is it?'

'Thursday.' I reply

'No, you can have it tonight.'

'Are you sure? I don't mind sharing.' I say and blush, realising how weird that sounds. 'No, not like that. I mean in a two-friends-chillin-on-a-bed sort of way.'

'No, but thank you.' Sherlock seems unaffected by my words.

I lift a sleepy Catsby into my arms and make my way to Sherlock's bedroom. His room, unlike the living area and kitchen, is spotlessly clean. The bed doesn't even look like it's been slept in.

'No cat in the bed!' I hear Sherlock call to me.

'Kay.' I shout back, tucking Catsby under the covers and snuggling in beside him. I drift off almost immediately.

'_Audrey…Audrey_.' I feel a gentle prod on my shoulder.

'Wha-' I wake up, startled.

'Shh, it's just me.' Sherlock sits down on the bed beside me as I prop myself up.

He remains silent, just looking at me. 'So…come here often?' I ask, breaking the silence.

He leans in, face inches away from mine. 'Tell me.' He says. 'Tell me how it ends; how we end.'

I breathe in and study him. No way am I telling him. No way. It'll destroy them both.

'Sherlock,' I say softly, 'We're not meant to know how our lives end. When it's time to go, we go.'

'I know, _but you can tell me_.' He replies urgently.

Oh god. _Your best poker face Aud, your very best!_

'Sherlock, I told you, I haven't read that far.' He narrows his eyes. 'You're lying.'

Shit. He's too clever for his own good.

He grabs my wrists tightly, eyes flashing. '_I need to know_, Audrey. Else I'll go mad.' I wince and twist my hands in his. Truth be told, I was a little frightened.

'Sherlock, let go. You're hurting me.' I whisper.

The fire in his eyes instantly diminishes, and he releases my hands. He sighs and stands up to leave.

'Goodnight, Audrey.'

* * *

**Soooo there you go, chapter 3. Please please PLEASE leave a comment or constructive criticism! This is my first proper story so I'm still quite new to this. Thank you _Writers and Readers_ for your lovely review, it made me very happy!  
**


	4. Who's Dorothy?

'Oh, it just doesn't make sense.' Mrs Hudson huffs, squinting at the computer screen. She had spent the better half of the day trying to deduce where she was and exactly_ how_ she got there. So far, she had come up with nothing. Nada. Zilch. 'No 221B? How can there be no 221B?' She mutters, pushing her reading glasses further up her nose. But that's the thing; there is no 221B. At least, not in the real world anyway. No 221B, no Sherlock Holmes, no John Watson and _no Mrs Hudson_. Suddenly, the shrill ringing of a mobile sounds behind her. 'Oof!' Mrs Hudson jumps, hitting her funny-bone on the table corner. She walks to bed in the centre of the room and gingerly picks up the phone. 'Oh, it's like Sherlock's…a touchy one.' She violently swipes her finger across the screen, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

'_H-hello?_' She whispers tentatively.

'_Hey Aud._' A man answers.

'_Sherlock? Is that you?' _

'_What? No Aud, it's Dad!' _Mrs Hudson glances at the phone and then places it back to her ear.

'_A-Aud? Who is Aud?'_

'_Audrey, what's goin' on?' _The man asks, confused.

'_I'm not Audrey, I-I'm Mrs Hudson.' _

The man laughs jokingly. '_Oh, sorry didn't realise I'd called 221B'. _

Mrs Hudson starts._ 'Did you just say 221B? Yes, yes I'm Mrs Hudson from 221B! How did you know?' _

There is a pause.

'…_Mrs Hudson, where's Audrey?' _The man asks carefully.

'_Oh I don't know how got here, all I remember is sitting down to drink my morning tea and woosh! The room started spinning and I woke up here!'_ Mrs Hudson replies tearfully.

There is another long pause, then;

'_Shit.' _The phone disconnects and Mrs Hudson just stares at it. 'Well that was a bit rude.'

* * *

I crack my eyes open and smile as I come nose to nose with Catsby's bleary-eyed sleepy face. '_Good morning sunshine_.' I whisper and peck the little pink bud. I stretch, cracking my shoulders, and sit up.

And then I remember I'm not in my own apartment.

'Ugh balls.' I groan and roll out of the (extremely comfortable) double bed. 'We're still here Catsby.' I wander into Sherlock's adjoining bathroom, my feet pattering on the cold tiles. Pulling my dark brown hair into a messy bun on top my head, I root around the cupboards for a spare toothbrush. Amazingly enough, I spot one in a matter of seconds. I shake my head, glancing around at the immaculately clean bathroom. '_Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes_?' I mutter.

Strolling back into the bedroom, I grab my dark purple dressing gown hanging from the wardrobe. It is a heavy, Victorian - style, lace gown, with deep gold fringing and a court train trailing behind. Pulling it on over my flimsy, white cotton nightdress, I twirl around in my room for a bit. _Awh cool, I'm like one of those Jane Austen tarts._

'_Heeeeathcliff! _

_It's meee Cathyyy I've come hooome_

_I'm so co-o-o-oold!_

_Let me in you wiiin-' _

_BANG! _

'GAH!' I shout and stop singing. _Tell me that wasn't a gun shot. _Racing out the door, I sprint down the hallway and into the living room, only to find Sherlock lounging on the sofa, lazily twirling a pistol in his hands.

'Bored!' He takes aim and fires another bullet into the wall.

I jump back, covering my ears. 'Oi! What's the wall ever done to you?' Sherlock glances at me, then does a double-take.

'Where'd you get that?' He asks, taking in the excess of purple and gold lace trailing behind me.

'Bram Stoker's Dracula.' I reply, twirling on the spot. 'You like it?'

He snorts. 'It's ridiculously over-sized.'

'…_You're ridiculously over-sized._' I grumble, flipping the switch on the kettle. I notice Sherlock eyeing up an un-bullet-riddled part of the wall.

'Ah-ah-ah!' I scold, standing over him. 'Give me the gun.' I demand, stretching my hand out.

'Or what?'

'Or I'll sit on you.' I warn.

He rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, like that's going to – _oof_!' I plop myself down on his stomach, careful not to be too gentle.

'You're lucky I'm small.' I tell him. 'Cos if I wasn't, you'd probably be coughing up your innards by now.'

He winces, but I reuse to move. 'Give me the gun.'

'No.'

'Look, John's going to get really angry and he has nowhere to stay tonight when he storms off since that Sarah did a runner.' I explain to him. He continues to stare sulkily at me. I continue to smile sweetly at him, swinging my feet.

He sighs and hands me the pistol. Taking it, I pull the magazine out and drag the slide back with a sharp _snap,_ watching as the bullets fall to the ground.

Sherlock looks mildly impressed. 'Where did you learn how to do that?'

'You ever seen Love/Hate?' I ask.

He shakes his head.

'Google it.'

I tuck the pistol into my dressing-gown pocket. 'Can I have this?'

Sherlock smirks. 'You'd just end up blowing your brains out.'

'Shut-up.' I snap. (Though, lets be honest, that probably would happen.)

He sighs and brings his hands up under his chin in a steeple position.

I'm still sitting on him. I wish I had brought my tea. Damn.

'Was I right?' He suddenly asks me.

'Bout what?'

'In deducing you? Did I get everything right?'

I narrow my eyes, trying to remember what he said. 'Well, I'm from Kildare, so you got the bit about the midlands right. I'm 19 years old, I go to Kings College..'

He nods. 'And what do you study?'

'French and Film Studies.' I lean back against the chair, getting comfy.

'_French_, not English. Dammit.' He murmurs. 'What's your mother's maiden name?'

'Dubois. Why?' I respond.

He suddenly sits up and I'm jerked backwards. 'Ah she's French! _That's_ why you're named Audrey.'

I smirk, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling myself upright. I didn't want to correct him when he'd said I resembled Audrey Hepburn.

'Hey Audrey, I got your Vogue maga –' John walks in, stops, and stares at the two of us.

My eyes widen. Oh god, what must this look like?

Me, sitting across Sherlock, arms wrapped around his shoulders, his face close to mine.

That's what it looks like.

John glances behind him and then back to us.

'Er…Did I miss something?'

I giggle and slide off Sherlock's lap. 'Well, you missed Sherlock assaulting the wall with this pistol.' I pull it from my pocket. 'And you missed me sitting on Sherlock cos he wouldn't give me the gun.' I shrug, 'That's about it.'

'What time is it?' Sherlock calls from the sofa.

'Er,' John flips his hand over and checks his old army watch. 'Its three pm.'

'_What?' _I exclaim. 'You mean I slept in until two? That's the latest I've ever...' I trail off, looking out the window.

Oh crap.

'_EVERYONE GET DOWN!_' I shout, pulling John with me. Sherlock rolls from the sofa and onto the floor, just before the whole apartment is hit with the impact of the explosion.

* * *

'Ugh.' I groan, nudging the shards of broken glass with the toe of my shoe. The windows had been completely shattered by the force of the blast. 'No, Catsby!' I catch him slinking around the sofa out of the corner of my eye. Running over I scoop him up. 'Mon chouchou.' I coo, 'You'll hurt your petites pattes and Maman would be so sad.' I rub my face against his.

Sherlock, who had been experimenting in the kitchen, makes a noise of disgust.

I throw him a dirty look and tuck Catsby under my arm.

'I'm taking Catsby for a walk.' I announce. 'John, where's the nearest park?'

'Hmm?' John looks up from his laptop. 'Oh, Queen Mary's is just down the road.'

'You're going to walk around London with a cat?' Sherlock smirks.

'Yes.'

'With him in your arms like that?' He points to the purring Catsby.

'Problem?'

He rolls his eyes and returns to his bubbling concoctions.

* * *

'Audrey Dubois-Thompson.' A tall, sandy-haired man slaps three photos onto the mahogany desk. 'Nineteen years old. No idea what her connection with Sherlock Holmes is, but she seems to be staying with them.'

The dark haired man sitting behind the desk studies the pictures of the small, brown-haired girl holding a cat. He grins wickedly.

'Thank you, Moran. That will be all.' The tall blonde man leaves the room.

'Now, angel face.' He strokes the photo. '_Who_ are you_?_'

* * *

As I trudge back up the stairs, I spy a sticky note attached door.

_Audrey_, it reads

_Was called in to hospital to cover for Dr Smith. _

_Won't be back until late. _

_Try not to kill Sherlock. _

_John_.

I chuckle and open the door. Sherlock's talking to himself.

Again.

'You know Sherlock, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.' I sing-song and prance into the living room, stopping abruptly when I realise he_ wasn't _talking to himself.

'Mycroft, this is Audrey Thompson.' He motions to where I'm standing.

Ohh _Mycroft! _

The thin, balding man rises from John's seat to shake my hand.

'It's a pleasure, Mrs Thompson.' He smiles tightly. 'If you don't mind me asking, who are you?'

'Oh, I –'

'She's Mrs Hudson's niece.' Sherlock interrupts me. I give him a look.

Mycroft doesn't look convinced, but remains silent nonetheless. He turns his attention back to Sherlock, who is absentmindedly plucking the strings of his violin.

'I can't.' Sherlock says.

'_Can't_?' Mycroft questions.

'The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time.' I look at him on disbelief.  
'Never mind your usual trivia.' Mycroft says tiredly. 'This is of national importance.'  
Sherlock sulkily flicks his fingers across the strings. 'How's the diet?'

Mycroft ignores the insult. '_Fine_. Perhaps _you_ can get through to him, Audrey.'

I look up from sweeping the rest of the glass shards into the bin. 'Hah! Fat chance of that.' I say incredulously.

'If you're so keen, why don't _you_ investigate it?' Sherlock inquires.  
'No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ...' Mycroft trails off, leaving Sherlock eyeing him suspiciously.

'So...Audrey, is it a short stay?' I glance over at Mycroft before answering him.

'Uh…Well I just decided to take a year out of college and…travel, I suppose. I'm staying here with my Aunt for the time being.' I try to smile confidently.

'Strange..' Mycroft ponders. 'I never knew Mrs Hudson had family in Ireland.'

'Second cousin, once removed.' Sherlock cuts in. 'It's not important.' He says, waving his hand.

'Yeah.' I agree, bending down to pick up the remainder of the glass. 'We never really – Agh! _shit_' I swear, cutting my palm on a sharp edge. I clench my hand to stop the blood flow and dash to the sink.

'Is it deep?' Sherlock appears behind me.

I wince, not wanting to look. 'Uh, I dunno.'

'Let me see.' He takes my hand and inspects the wound. 'There's a first aid kit in my bathroom. Go wipe it with the antiseptic and then cover it with a plaster.' He instructs.

**(Switches to third person)**

'Now, who is she_ really_, Sherlock?' Mycroft asks once Audrey's left the room.

'She's who she said she is.' Sherlock replies stubbornly.

Mycroft laughs humourlessly, shaking his head. 'Don't lie to me, Sherlock. It's painfully obvious.'

Sherlock ignores him.

'Pretty little thing, isn't she?' Mycroft continues to watch Sherlock. 'A bit young.' He adds.

Sherlock throws him a look of contempt.

'Stay out of it, Mycroft.'

**(Switches back to Audrey's POV) **

'Jesus Christ, Sherlock! Was that antiseptic or plain salt water?' I proclaim loudly as I make my way back to the kitchen.

He smirks. 'No, just one of my own creations.'

'_What_? Sherlock, _I swear to God_ if I wake tomorrow with an extra limb I'll – '

'Ahem.' Mycroft coughs from John's chair. 'Well, I'd best be off.'

'Oh really. So soon?' Sherlock says in a dull, monotonous voice.

Mycroft turns to me. 'Until next time, Mrs Thompson.' I smile and wave, ignoring Sherlock's threatening stare.

Once I hear the front door shut, I round on Sherlock. 'Why did you lie?' He quirks an eyebrow. 'Well,' he says, 'I don't know about you, but I'd prefer _not_ to be carted off to the mental asylum.'

I open my mouth to shoot back a witty retort, but before I can say anything, Sherlock's phone rings.

'Sherlock Holmes.' He listens for a moment, then his expression changes. 'Of course. How could I refuse?' He ends the call and heads for the door. 'Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?' He looks back at me.

I hesitate. 'Uh..okay. If you want me to.'

* * *

'You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones.' Lestrade asks Sherlock as he strides down the corridor.  
'Obviously.'  
'You'll love _this_. That explosion ...' Lestrade glances behind and _literally_ just notices me. 'Oh, hello. Who's this then?' He looks at Sherlock.

'Lestrade, Audrey. Audrey, Lestrade.' Sherlock introduces us without looking back.

Lestrade smiles warmly at me, shaking my hand. 'Nice to meet you Audrey.'

'You too.'

Oof look at that silver fox _go_. I was certainly _not_ expecting Lestrade to be as handsome as he was.

Dayum.

He was one of those men that get better with age - You know, like a fine wine or something. There was just something so _calming _about his voice…I mean, nothing compared to Sherlock's velvet voice of sex but I wouldn't mind him try –

'Audrey!' Sherlock clicks his fingers in front of my face.

'Huh?' I snap out of my inner fangirling. 'Did you ask me something?'

'The letter.' He says, pointing to the envelope on the desk. 'Is it okay to open?'

'Oh, yeah go ahead. They've already X-rayed it and checked for booby-traps anyway.'

Lestrade frowns and looks from me to Sherlock. 'How did she -?'

'Nevermind.' Sherlock snaps. Nice stationery. Bohemian.'  
'What?' Lestrade asks.  
'From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?'  
'No.'  
Sherlock looks closely at the writing. 'She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib.'

'She?' Lestrade questions again.

'Obviously.' Sherlock and I say at the same time. Lestrade rolls his eyes.

Sherlock picks up a letter opener from the desk and carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out a pink iPhone.

'Same pink phone.' I comment.  
'What, from the Study in Pink?' Lestrade question.  
'Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ...' Sherlock stops as he realises what Lestrade just said. He turns to face him. At the same time, Donovan walks into the room to put some files down on a desk near the door.  
Sherlock looks at him incredulously. 'The Study in Pink? You read his blog?  
'Course I read his blog! We _all_ do. D'you _really_ not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?' I cover my mouth to hold in my laugh, but a giggle escapes.

'Who's Dorothy?' Donovan asks, looking over at me. I scowl at her.

Okay, it wasn't _exactly _an insult because I _was _actually wearing the red slippers I'd read out of _The Wizard of Oz. _With a matching redskater dress. And a red bow pulling my hair back from my face. But _apart from that_, I looked perfectly normal.

Lestrade frowns at her. 'Sally, this is _Audrey_, Sherlock's friend.'

'_Friend?_ She scoffs. 'What, did he follow you home?'

'Hmm,' I put my finger on my chin, pretending to be thinking. 'I wouldn't say followed, no. It was more of a _stalking_ thing at first. But I got fed up with it and when I confronted him, he kidnapped me and locked me in the basement where I've been living for the past year and a half now.' She opens her mouth to say something, but I continue. 'But then, sparks began to fly and I found myself falling for him.' I stare at Sherlock dreamily, who quirks an eyebrow in amusement. 'Oh well, that's Stockholm syndrome for you. What can ya do?' I shrug my shoulders.

Donovan throws an uneasy glance at Lestrade and briskly exits his office.

I lapse into a fit of giggles, '_Did you guys see that_?' I wipe away tears. 'Ohh god I'm hilarious.' I glance up to find Lestrade staring at me uncertainly. 'I was _joking_, Greg.'

He laughs, but then stops abruptly to look down at me again. 'How did you know – '

'It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new.' Sherlock interrupts him. He checks the connection sockets for scratches.

Sherlock switches the phone on and immediately gets a voice alert. The message plays but there is no voice – just the unmistakeable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal.

'Is that it?' Lestrade looks disappointed.  
'No. That's _not_ it.'

A photograph has also been uploaded to the phone. Sherlock opens it and Lestrade peers over his shoulder. The picture is of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper is peeling and there's a tall mirror propped up in one corner.

'What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!' Lestrade cries out exasperatedly.  
'It's a warning.' Sherlock explains, gazing thoughtfully. 'Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's going happen again.'  
He briefly looks down at the photo again, then brandishes the phone at us as he starts to leave the office. 'And I've seen this place before.'  
Lestrade grabs his coat and hurries after him. 'Hang on. _What's_ gonna happen again?'  
'BOOM!' I shout and turn back to Lestrade, grinning.

'Yes, my exact sentiments, Audrey.' Sherlock calls back.

* * *

We congregate outside 221C.

'The door's been opened recently.' Sherlock observes, looking at the keyhole.  
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door.

Lestrade stops and looks at them before stating, 'Shoes'.

'Yes, thank you for that _enlightened_ snippet of information, Lestrade.' I look up and pat Greg's arm apologetically.

Sherlock stops for a moment, then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. He jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up, pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket. He pauses for a second, then answers the phone.

"_Hello?"_ He says, softly  
_"H-hello ... sexy."_ It's woman's voice.  
_"Who's this?"  
"I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi." _I can hear the tears in her voice._  
"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"  
"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out."__  
_

I stare at the phone in Sherlock's hand, almost shaking with fury. In my excitement, I had completely forgotten about the maniac that is Moriarty.

Now he was here. The danger is_ real_ this time.

"_The curtain rises." _Sherlock whispers._  
"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty." _

* * *

'Audrey?' Sherlock leans against the kitchen island while I stir my cup of tea.

'Mmhmm?'

'I trust you know about Moriarty?'

Aw _crap_, not this again. I keep my back turned, hoping he doesn't see my expression change. 'Uh.. Yeah, I've heard of him.'

'So you know how dangerous he is?'

I sigh, giving up on hiding my face. 'Yes...He's a maniac. An actual_ psycho_.'

'Then I hope you'll understand when I say it's not safe for you to come with John and I on the cases. At least, for the meantime.'

I stare at him. 'Oh no, do_ not_ give me that "you're too small and girly" bullshit. I am _perfectly_ capable of defending myself, thank you very much! You should see me, I'm like freakin' Natasha Romanoff - '

'Yes, yes alright!' Sherlock sighs, interrupting my rant. 'It's just, you're a _perfect_ target for Moriarty.'

'Sherlock,' I say, holding his gaze. 'You need to trust me. I know exactly how this plays out.' I smile, tapping my head. 'I'm always one step ahead, remember?'

He inclines his head. 'Fair point. But _no_ more walks with Catsby, okay?'

I smile wryly. 'Sherlock Holmes are you, dare I say it,_ concerned_?'

He narrows his eyes and scoffs at me. 'The only thing I'm concerned about is _you getting in the way_.' And with that he stalks form the room.

... Wanker

* * *

**a/n Audrey's Dad knows whats up... Mmhmm. Anyhoo there's chapter 4. Hope yis like it and pretty please please leave a comment! They fuel my creative juices :) Thank you to Jenny the Wicked and rycbar15 for your reviews! **


	5. Je Ne Comprends Pas

**a/n Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, I had exams all week and it was hard to try and fit in my writing! In relation to the question about Audrey's power and where she got it ect..., Don't worry, I am going to explain it, just gradually. I have it all worked out :) *taps head*. Anyhoo, enjoy chapter 5 and please leave a comment! **

* * *

Mr. Thompson sighs and drags his hand across a weary face. Of course this was bound to happen. How could it not? He had it, his Mother had it, Grandad Niall had it ... But _why_ did it have to be now?After all those times he told her not to read aloud – making up excuse after excuse. And now, when she needed him most he was stuck, worrying in the_ backend_ of nowhere.

He had read a few of those books himself, he knew the danger Sherlock Holmes faced_ every_ second bloody day. And Aud was so small, oblivious to the 'bad things' happening around her. Ever since Camille's accident she'd been so –

_No_. Mr Thompson stands and strides towards his front door. _He wasn't going to lose both of them_.

* * *

'Why do I have to help you? Why can't John? He's your trusty blogger - He's Juan the Magnificant. The Juan and only. Juan of a - '

'YES. I _get_ it.' I stuggle as Sherlock pulls me through the doors of the lab in St. Barts.

'You know why you're here.' He sets the muddy trainers down. 'And right now, you're of much more importance to me than John is.' He snaps a pair of latex gloves over his hands.

I glance around the white room nervously. _Oh crap this is not going to be good_. The door of the lab opens and I jump, knocking a Bunsen Burner to the floor.

'Nice to know you think so highly of me.' John smiles sarcastically at Sherlock.

Sherlock though, had been staring over at me.

'_What_ has gotten into you Audrey? I mention St. Barts and you practically break down in tears.' He eyes me suspiciously.

'Eh..' I reply shakily. 'No, it's nothing ... I'm just a bit tired is all.' I reach down to fix the burner, hiding my face. Whatever you do Aud, you _cannot_ give yourself away. You don't know what the consequences of changing a storyline are. _Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut. _

Sherlock's phone trills another text alert. 'Pass me my phone.'

John looks around the room. 'Where is it?'

'Jacket.'

John straightens up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief and I can't help but snigger. Turning to his right, he marches stiffly around the table, slams one hand onto Sherlock's shoulder and roughly pulls his jacket open with the other as he starts to rummage in his inside pocket.  
'_Carefu_l.' Sherlock warns, still not looking up from the microscope.

I had now begun to tap my fingers on the desk, getting into to character. 'Be the mute._ Be_ the mute.' I whisper.

'Audrey, if you don't stop drumming your fingers on the table I'm going to erode them away in that beaker of _very corrosive_ hydrochloric acid.' Sherlock states matter-of-factly.

'Wha – Steady on there Walter White.' I clasp my hands together.

'Since you appear to have nothing better to do, go get me a coffee. Black two – '

'Black, two sugars. Yeah I know.' I sigh and slide from the stool. Opening the lab door I turn my head from the left to the right.

And then left again. And then right.

Satisfied with the reasonably empty corridor, I peg it to the coffee machine. Judging by the book, if I take another 5 minutes getting the coffee, I should be able to miss him. I empty the contents of two sugar sachets into Sherlock's coffee. Checking my watch, I grab the cup and slowly make my way back towards the lab. Peeking my head through the small glass window, I scan the room.

It's just Molly. He must have left. Slowly pushing the door open I –

'Do you need a hand with that?'

'Gah!' I shout and drop the two cups of coffee. Turning around I find myself staring into the darkest eyes I've ever seen. Like, _Johnny Depp_ dark.

Unfortunately, the door was still propped open with my leg, so Molly, Sherlock and John were all witness to this spectacular fuck-up.

'Jim! Hi!' Molly waves at him."Jim" takes his eyes from mine to grin at Molly. 'Come in! Come in!' She ushers him inside the room.

Sherlock looks over at her briefly, running his eyes down her body and apparently making an instant deduction, then looks back into the microscope. 'I hope that's not my coffee running down your leg, Audrey.' I scowl and attempt to brush the dark liquid from my black leggings.

'Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.' Molly introduces him. 

'Ah!' "Jim" smiles.

_You can wipe that smirk off your smug face "Jim". What kind of a name is Jim anyway? A stupid one, that's what. Iknowwhatyouare, Iknowwhatyouare, Iknowwhatyouare_ .

John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly. 'And this is, uh ... sorry.' I can see John literally fighting with himself to keep his eyes from rolling. 'John Watson. Hi.' Molly smiles awkwardly and turns towards me. 'And then we have Au-'

'No.' I blurt out before I can stop myself. All four heads turn to look at me in bewilderment.

'_Uh … __Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas l'anglais. Je suis française_.' I cringe inwardly.

Molly opens her mouth to speak. 'Wha –'

'_Audrey. Audrey Dubois_.' I smile tightly.

"Jim" grins, flashing perfect pearly whites, and looks back at me. 'Yes, I must thank you for spilling hot coffee down my leg. ' He laughs jokingly, extending his hand.

I take it and narrow my eyes. '_Je vous en prie, Monsieur Mo_ –'

I catch myself just in time.

Moriarty, however, does not fail to notice. His hand squeezes tighter around mine, eyes darkening dangerously.

I pull my hand away, looking at Sherlock. '_Je__v ais prendre __plus de café__. À __plus._' I turn on my heel and walk/sprint down the corridor.

_Bad Dobby! Stupid Dobby_! I mutter and slap my forehead while waiting for the coffee. Why can't I just learn to control myself?

I think back on the conversation. _It was so easy to catch him out. _I just wanted to not feel weak or … scared. I sigh. But now he knows you know something's up and will probably skin you alive for it.

Rounding the corner with two new steaming cups of coffee, I take a sip of mine only to –

'WAAH!' I shout walking straight into another body, drenching myself (once again) in coffee.

'ARE YOU FREAKING – ' I gulp, coming face to face with Mr. Moriarty himself.

'…sérieux?' I finish quietly.

He chuckles darkly. 'Ah, so we meet again _Miss Dubois_.' He's dropped the English accent, replacing it with his natural Irish tone.

I just continue to gape at him like a fish.

'Would you like to tell me what you're_ really_ doing here.' He leans forward, resting one hand on the wall, trapping me. 'In English, this time.'

'Uh … g-getting coffee? ..' I stutter, silently cursing my cowardice.

'Ah she speaks!' He leans in uncomfortably close. 'You are going to tell me how you know my name, and you're going to do it _quickly_.'

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Think Audrey … _think_!

'Um... You're name is Jim. I know this because you just told me.' That's it, play it cool.

He brings a hand up to my face and slowly intertwines my hair in his fingers, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. '_Liar_!' He hisses, yanking my head back. I dig my nails into my palm, fighting to hold back tears. _Don't you cry Aud, don't you dare give him the satisfaction_.

'_I'm not afraid of you._' I spit out through gritted teeth. He begins to laugh softly, his warm breath tickling my cheek.

'Look at little Miss Red Riding Hood_._' He leers at me._ '_Standing up to_ the Big Bad Wolf_.' With a final smirk, he throws me to the ground a split-second before John emerges from the lab.

'Oopsy daisy !' He reverts back to "Jim", taking my hand and helping me up. 'Are you okay? Have you hurt yourself?' He asks, feigning concern.

_Two can play at this game._ 'No, no, I'm fine!' I laugh, brushing myself down. 'I'm so clumsy!' I joke with him.

'Well,' He looks from me to John and sort of ... _bows_ while walking away. 'It was nice meeting you.' John smiles in return.

'Likewise.' I reply, grinning. John joins me at the wall. 'Did you spill the coffee _again_?'

'Yeah.' I reply sheepishly. 'I wasn't lying about being clumsy, you know.' John chuckles and continues to the coffee machine.

I wince, rubbing where my hip bone made contact with the hard tiles. _That's gonna look pretty in the morning_.

* * *

'Argh!' Moriarty growls and dashes his glass of brandy to the floor. The crystal shatters, spraying nearby cream curtains with the dark alcohol. Who was this girl? How did she see through _him?_ … And that's just what she is; a _girl_. Barely looked eighteen years old.

The dark haired man rolls his shoulders and neck, sighing.

She's a liability. If she lets slip _anything_, the whole plan goes caput. He had Moran run every background check on her, family history, personal history… He had even stolen her DNA results from Barts – All of which proved to be futile. There was _nothing_ on her …_ he_ had nothing on her. No family or loved ones to blackmail and threaten.

Moriarty flexes his fingers, cracking each one. She was a mystery … this _Audrey Dubois_.

**Sooo there ya go! Big thank you to****__****rycbar15,** Euphoric Vibes, .okumura, Minecraftlover, xX-Kasai-Xx, enchantixgoddess, SaphireBlue78, alpacaamazing, JennytheWicked, mel and the _two guests_ for commenting! They literally make my day so please please please review!  



	6. Moccasins

The journey home was unbearably silent. I had refused point blank to explain my bizarre outburst in St. Barts, stating simply that sometimes I have an insuppressible need to _parler __français_. Sherlock had snorted at this and told me I needed my head examined, to which I graciously responded with a swift elbow in the ribs. I lean back against the soft leather seat, trying to steady the erratic thumping in my chest. _Now is not the best time to have a nervy b, Aud_. I thought I had gained _some_ control over the panic attacks throughout the past years. But every so often the fear would resurface again like a sleeping dragon, reminding me that it was always there.

It's not so much _fear_ that I'm feeling right now, more so a sort of … regret and bitterness. How had I allowed myself to become so feeble? I had known what was coming, how that scene would play out. Yet in my arrogance, I had almost altered the entire storyline.

Yep. I walked myself _straight_ into the firing line.

'…They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important.' I shake out of the reverie and turn my attention back to Sherlock and John. 'He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes …' Sherlock leans down and plucks Carl Powers' trainers from the bag. '… until now.'

* * *

John's phone dings a text as he's preparing a sandwich. 'Audrey, can you check that for me please?' He calls over his shoulder. I grab the phone, scrolling through the message. 'It's from Mycroft. He wants to know if there's been anything more on the missile plans.' John pauses and looks up, frowning.

'Hang on a minute, how does Mycroft have my number?'

'Shall I reply?' I ask, already typing out a message. 'Sure, tell him Sherlock is – '

' – Putting my best man onto right now.' Sherlock interrupts from the sitting room.

'_Sherlock's sending John over. He's … "busy". Lol your brother's such a ponce. _

_No offence. _

_Take it easy on those molars, root canal's a bitch. _

_AD.' _

I smirk at my ingenious wit. _Oh the cleverness of me._ 'John, be a doll and buy some milk on the way to Mycrofts, there's a viscous _yellowy_ substance emanating from this carton.' I wrinkle my nose at the offending milk bottle.

'Who says I'm going to Mycrofts?' John looks from me to Sherlock.

'Sherlock.' I reply simply.

'No I didn't.' I hear Sherlock saying from beneath the microscope.

'Well, not_ yet_ you haven't.' I roll my eyes. 'But John is your "best man". Congrats,' I say to him. 'You've got a case.' John opens his mouth to speak but Sherlock gets there first.

'Actually, I was talking about you, Audrey.' I hear the smirk in his voice. 'You can go to Mycroft.'

_Oh he knows what he's doing. He's said that just to annoy me. The little shit. _

'That is bullshit, Sherlock Holmes.' I say, glowering at him. 'You've literally just changed your mind to look cooler than me.' I toss my hair and flounce from the kitchen in a stunningly accurate Fleur Delacour fashion.

'An arduous feat, no doubt.' Sherlock sighs. 'He seems to like you; maybe because you're small, I don't really know.' I snort at this. 'But you know this case as well as I do. Better, in fact.' His expression darkens.

'Fine. But if I'm going so is Catsby.' I cross my arms defiantly. John chuckles at this but Sherlock raises his head, narrowing his eyes. 'Audrey, you are_ not_ bringing your cat into the Diogenes Club.'

'Well I'm certainly not leaving him here with you and your experiments!' I spy a fluffy cream tail behind the curtains. 'And look, he's gone into hiding already!' I complain, trying to coax the fur ball out.

'Audrey, I'm being very serious. You are not bringing that angry creature to a place where _coughing_ can result in immediate exclusion.' Sherlock warns me.

'_N__'écoute pas, mon cher. Il est con._' I whisper to Catsby, who lifts his head and gingerly sniffs my hand. He seems to respond to my insulting Sherlock. _The little cherub_.

'Oh, there she goes in French again.' Sherlock mutters.

I glare at him. _'Il est une pomme de terre avec le visage d'un cochon d'inde._' Catsby swishes his tail and sits up. '_Il a le corps d'un chien et le QI d'une durée de cinq ans!_' The fat Persian cat stretches and crawls onto my lap.

'You know, I can understand you.' Sherlock remarks behind us.

'Good.' I sniff and gather Catsby up to cradle him in my arms.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and two scratched arms later (10 points to whoever guesses who the arms belong to), I find myself standing outside a rather large, white Georgian building. Tucking Catsby securely under my arm, I tap my knuckles three times against the black door. A stuffy looking elderly man kitted out in the full suit and tailcoat opens the door and proceeds to stare at me.

'_Ahem.._' I cough, clearing my throat. 'Hi. I'm Audrey Dubois, I'm here to see Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock sent me.'

Jeeves (I've decided he looks like a Jeeves. Or maybe a Carson) continues to stare at Catsby in disbelief. 'Oh don't worry,' I laugh, waving my hand. 'Mycroft knows I'm bringing Catsby.' Jeeves/Carson reluctantly steps back and allows me inside. 'This way, Miss Dubois.' He sniffs haughtily. I follow Jeeves/Carson down a wide corridor, the walls lined with portraits of Stephen Fry look-a-likes. We enter a narrow at the end of the corridor. Mycroft sits at the mahogany desk in centre of the room.

'Ah, Audrey.' Mycroft looks up from the multitude of letters and documents splayed across his desk. 'Yes, Sherlock mentioned he'd be sending you.' His gaze trails down to my arms. 'And … Catsby.' Mycroft stands, turning towards Jeeves/Carson and motions for me to take a seat. 'Thank you, Carson. That will be all.'

_Hells. Yeah. God I'm good. Boomtown: population Audrey. _

Mycroft sits down again. 'Now, Audrey. How can I help you?'

I glance around the room, suddenly nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. 'Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans.'

'Did he?' Mycroft begins to smile but winces, placing his hand on his jaw.

'Er … Yep.' I state awkwardly. 'Root canal acting up?' I ask sympathetically. 'Do you want some Nurofen Plus?' I set Catsby down and begin rooting around my handbag. 'I always have a packet in case I get perio – uh… headaches.' _Wow, smooth save Aud_.

Mycroft's eyes soften at this. 'No, no. Thank you, though.'

I smile and clear my throat. 'Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about Westie.'

'Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies... Wait, how did you know his name was Westie?' Mycroft frowns at this.

_Shit_. 'Uh… Sherlock, he um… he told me.' I finish lamely.

Mycroft just smiles, not believing a word of it. 'Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.'

'Right.' I tap my fingers against the wood, trying to remember any detail of the case from the book. 'He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train.'

'No. He had an Oyster card ...' Grimacing, Mycroft raises his hand to his mouth again. '... but it hadn't been used.'

'Must have bought a ticket.' I remark.

'There was no ticket on the body.' Mycroft explains, lowering his hand.

'Then ...' I trail off, copying John in the book.

'Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?' Mycroft finishes for me. 'That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to.'

'He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going ... very well. It's, um, you know – he's completely focussed on it.' I lie my pants off.

'Hmm.' Mycroft nods and smiles tightly. 'And how are you finding 221B? Hellish, I imagine.'

I laugh, shaking my head. 'I'm never bored. It's different, yes. I come from a family of two girls; my mum and Ca –'Well, just me and mum now.' I swallow, and attempt to smile. 'Living with two men is… challenging.'

Mycroft's eyes widen at my slip-up. 'You certainly are somewhat of a mystery, Audrey. I can find no public records or family documents. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were running from something.' He raises and eyebrow, smiling. 'Or someone.' He adds.

_Oh you might as well tell him, Aud. _

'Well, um… I can tell you that I am half-French, on my mother's side. My full name is Audrey Thompson-Dubois, but I dropped my father's surname when he and mum got a divorce. I am nineteen years old, and currently study French and Film in Kings College.' I glance up at Mycroft, who signals to continue.

'Um… I am a twin. W-well, I was.' I give up trying to steady my voice. 'Camille, she… died. She.. well, she... took her own life.' I glance up. 'We were fifteen.' Mycroft, who had been looking down at his desk, tilts his head upwards. 'I'm sorry to hear that, Audrey. Truly.' He says quietly.

I take a deep breath, composing myself. 'Thank you. But.. Er, that's not everything.' I almost laugh before saying it. 'I er… read myself… into existence..' I sneak a look at Mycroft, who just looks at me.

'You… _read_ yourself into existence?' He repeats.

'Yes, well you see, you don't actually exist.' I wait for him to laugh or say something but he does not. 'I have the ability to read myself _into_ books. And, read people and objects _out_ of books.' I add.

Mycroft rubs his jaw, but still says nothing.

'I find this works best when I can actually _show_ you, rather than tell you…' I pull the indigo blue book from my handbag. _The Catcher In The Rye_ flashes in gold text across the front cover. I locate the top right-hand corner I'd folded down and search the page for the quote. Clearing my throat, I begin to read:

"_We went into the shoe department and we pretended she – old Phoebe – wanted to get a pair of those very high storm shoes, the kind that have about a million holes to lace up. We had the poor salesman guy going crazy. Old Phoebe tried on about twenty pairs, and each time the poor guy had to lace one shoe all the way up. It was a dirty trick, but it killed old Phoebe. We finally bought a pair of moccasins and charged them." _

The room stops tilting and the whispering quietens. A dull thump brings our attention to a pair of soft, brown leather shoes sitting beside Catsby at the fireplace. He hisses at the intruders, skulking behind the armchair.

'_Impossible._' Mycroft breathes, striding over to the moccasins and inspecting them.

'Impossible, yes.' I agree, packing my book away and standing up. 'But true.' I sling my bag over my shoulder and pull Catsby up into my arms. 'I trust my secret's safe with you, Mycroft?' I hold his gaze. '_All_ of them.'

Mycroft looks up at me. 'You have nothing to worry about, Audrey.' He opens the door. 'Until next time.'

'Bye, Mycroft.' I smile.

* * *

'Clostridium botulinum!' I hear Sherlock shout as I walk through the door. Catsby squirms and jumps from my arms. 'Do you have a personal vendetta against my cat?' I burst out angrily, coaxing Catsby out from underneath the sofa.

He ignores me. 'It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!' John looks at Sherlock blankly. 'Carl Powers!'

'At a boy, I knew you'd get it soon.' I praise him and set about finding Catsby's dinner bowl.

'The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns.' Sherlock explains to John.

'Yeah, yeah whatever, have any of you guys seen Catsby's bowl? Everything else is… dirty.' I turn my nose up at the state of the kitchen.

Sherlock walks around the table to where his laptop is lying. 'Why do you need a clean bowl? He's a cat, he won't know the difference.' He scoffs.

'In that case, I'm sure you won't mind if I use your coffee cup then?'

'_No_!' He snatches the blue mug from my hands. 'It's the only clean cup and I don't want to wash the others.'

'Yeesh okay! Calm down Smeagol.' I roll my eyes at the ten year old in front of me. Sherlock continues to type.

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). _

_Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

* * *

'_Mrs Hudson? Hi it's Audrey's dad again, Mark Thompson.' _

'_Oh yes, hello! Are you going to help me?'_ Mrs Hudson asks excitedly.

'_I'm going to try, yes. I need you to stay where you are, do not leave the house. I'm getting the early flight over Tuesday morning.'_

'_Oh well, I would have nowhere to go even if I did leave.'_ Mrs Hudson sighs and looks around the empty flat.

'_Right well, yes. I need you search Audrey's flat for all of the Sherlock books. Can you do that for me?' _

'_Yes! Yes, I can. I've already found two in her bedroom – The uh… Blind Banker is one of them. I think.' _

'_Perfect. Thank you, Mrs Hudson.'  
_

* * *

**a/n: Chapter 6 done and dusted! Please pleeeease let me know what you guys think of it! Thank you to:** _rycbar15, SirOlives, Fishpuppy, cam.98, g0ldf1sh101, JennytheWicked, Haziebug, Rousdower and SaphireBlue78 _**for your kind reviews! I really appreciate them :) Until next time! ****  
**


	7. Crocodile Tears

**First of all, can I just say WOW! I seriously cannot belive how much follows, favs and reviews my story is getting! It's crazy and I'm so thankful for each and every one! **

**Secondly, SERIES THREE. I personally loved the episode. New Sherlock is so energetic and...happy! Mark Gatiss is such a fanatastic writer. **

**Thirdly, there's a slight plot twist in this chapter. Well, not really. Just a tiny bit. Kinda. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. If you do, please leave a comment :) **

**Voilà:**

* * *

'Why don't you like Sherlock, Sally?' Donovan spins around, looking at me incredulously. 'Who says I don't like him?' She narrows her eyes. 'Did he say that to you?'

I smile softly. 'He didn't have to.' Donovan continues to eye me suspiciously. 'Who are you, anyway? Why are you staying with Sherlock?'

'I'm… Um Mrs Hudson is my Aunt. I'm staying in her flat while she's um… away.' I shrug my shoulders a little_ too_ enthusiastically, resulting in a miffed growl resonating from within my pea coat. Donovan takes a _rather large_ step back, pointing to my chest. 'D – Did your coat just… _growl_?' I open my mouth to explain, but Catsby pops his little head up through my scarf before I can. 'Wha- Why is there a cat…' Donovan just stares, shaking her head, but laughs in spite of herself. 'You're quite the character, I'll give you that.'

I return the smile and look beyond her. _Oh, Sherlock's going to make a complete arse of himself now. Fantastic._ 'Listen, I'd better go and… help.' I point behind Donovan, who raises her eyebrows. 'Hah, you can try.' I rush past her as Sherlock makes his way towards the sniffling woman. 'Okay yeah, that was a lie. I just really don't want to miss this.'

'… Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's. We, um ...' I arrive just as Sherlock activates the waterworks. '... we grew up together.' _Oh please. _

The woman looks at Sherlock tearfully. 'I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned you.'

Sherlock wipes a tear from his eye. _A motherfucking tear_. 'Oh, he must have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn't it?' I catch John's eye and we both have to turn away to hide the onslaught of sniggers.

Meryl Streep continues with his mother-of-sorrows act. 'I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world.'

The woman stares at Sherlock. 'Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?'

Sherlock, who now has _actual tears_ running down his cheeks, frowns and looks into the distance. 'Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?'

'No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all.' I attempt to give my best consoling look, but Sherlock's breath hitches and does that little _hiccupy _thing people do when they cry. _Oh Christ he's good._ I can't contain myself and actually _laugh out loud_. 'S-Sorry..' I wince and hide behind John. 'I'm not good with death.' I explain to the pissed-off woman.

Sherlock smiles tearfully. 'Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!'

The woman shakes her head, beginning to suspect him. 'No it wasn't.' Instantly Sherlock's fake persona drops and he looks at her intensely. 'Wasn't it? _Interesting_.' He turns on his heel and walks away.

John and I hurry after him. 'Oh, that never fails to make me laugh.' I burst out, unable to supress the giggles any longer.

Sherlock glares at me. 'Yes you made that _very apparent_, thank you Audrey.'

I roll my eyes. 'Look I'm sorry, but you should have seen your face!' I snigger. 'You should put that on your CV - _"Can cry on cue"._ Really,' I look up at him. 'It's impressive.'

'Why did you lie to her?' John inquires beside me.

Sherlock, taking his gloves off to wipe the tears from under his eyes, sighs. 'People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?'

'Sorry, what?' John glances at me.

'I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car.' Sherlock explains tiredly.

John frowns at him. 'You think she murdered her husband?'

'Nah.' I sigh and shake my head at the same time Sherlock says 'Definitely not.' He throws me withering look and continues. 'That's not a mistake a murderer would make.'

'I see.' John nods and pauses. 'No, I don't. What am I seeing?'

'Fishing! Try fishing!' Donovan calls out to John as we pass. John turns around and gives her an exasperated nod before following Sherlock again. I smile and wave at her. 'Bye Sally.'

Donovan appraises me for a moment before responding. 'See you Audrey. And your… cat.'

Sherlock spins around. 'What does she mean by your ca – Oh for god's sake!' I pull Catsby out from my coat, shrugging. 'It's cold outside.' Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose and strides ahead, muttering contemptuously.

John stays behind to wait for me. 'You're such a weirdo.' He grins, shaking his head.

* * *

'Now tell me once more what you're to do.' Sherlock instructs me before I open the cab door. I sigh and turn towards him. 'I must leave Catsby in the apartment, come straight back down and get a taxi to Janus Cars_. I know_.'

'Good.' Sherlock nods his head, satisfied. 'And don't even dream of – '

'- Going elsewhere, talking to strangers, rob a bank or steal a car.' I reply sarcastically, ticking the options off on my fingers. 'Got it.' I push the car door open and make my way up the steps of 221B.

'Okay Catsby, be a good boy for maman.' I place a kiss on his head and set him down on the sofa. Running to Sherlock's bedroom (well, my bedroom now), I grab a pair of small, fur-lined gloves. Pulling them on, I admire the soft leather material. _The Narnians have good taste_.

Shutting the front door firmly behind me, I wrap my tartan scarf tighter around my neck and raise my arm to hail a taxi. A sleek black car with tinted windows pulls up in front of me. _Ugh, not now Mycroft_. Anthea, _or maybe not Anthea… I don't know they all look the same_, steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for me. Rolling my eyes, I slide in. 'Mycroft, now is not the best time to –' I trail off and meet a pair of black eyes.

_Oh shit_.

Moriarty grins dangerously. 'Hello, Blue Eyes.' I feel my pulse quickening. 'Miss me?' Moriarty leans forward, speaking to the driver. 'Just circle the street for a bit. This won't take long.' He settles back into the cream leather seat and turns to face me, one arm stretching across the seat behind my head. He checks his watch. 'Ooh, only three more hours. Sherlock's getting slow.' I meet his gaze and, with all the courage I could muster, throw him an icy glare.

'What do you want, _Jim_?'

He smirks and drums his fingers on his knee. 'Brilliant girl isn't she… Molly. Kind, clever… _honest_.' He looks into my eyes as he says that last word, searching them. 'She told me the _strangest_ thing yesterday.' He laughs loudly. 'She told me that you… _read yourself_ here. Into this world. Isn't that crazy?' His laughing stops abruptly as he leans in, tilting his head. 'Now, why would she tell me that?'

I play along with him, raising my eyebrows. 'Haven't the foggiest.'

Moriarty's grip tightens on the seat. 'Oh, but I think you do. Dear Molly was _so_ upset she'd told me, she worried she'd make Sherlock angry if he knew.' He widens his eyes, feigning sympathy. 'But it got me thinking…_what if_?' His voice drops to a whisper. '_What if it's true_?' He takes his hand away from behind my head and places it on his chin. 'So I just had to steal you away and see for myself.' He flashes a wide grin. 'So, go on…'

_Sweet baby Jesus. He's actually as crazy as they say_.

'Look, I have no idea what you're talk-' I begin but he raises a hand, silencing me.

'_Show_. _Me_.' He moves closer, his voice losing all playfulness.

_Just show him, Aud. You don't know what you're dealing with._

'I don't have a book.' I snap, glaring at him.

'Georgia. Your phone.' He barks at the woman sitting in the front. '_Now_.' Georgia immediately hands over the iPhone.

I hesitantly take the phone from his hand. _The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, by C.S Lewis, _is printed across the small screen.

_Oh the irony. _

I sigh and begin reading the short passage.

'_"Why, it is just like branches of trees!" exclaimed Lucy. And then she saw that there was a light ahead of her; not a few inches away where the back of the wardrobe ought to have been, but a long way off. Something cold and soft was falling on her.' _

I shiver, noticing the temperature in the car drop considerably.

'_A moment later she found that she was standing in the middle of a wood at night-time with snow under her feet and snowflakes falling through the air.' _My breath fogs as I finish the passage.

I look up. Tiny icicles cling to the corners of the glass windows. As Moriarty rolls the window down, a sudden breeze blows snow flurries into the car, covering our hair and coats. He turns to look at me, a triumphant grin stretching across his face. 'I think I've just found my new favourite toy.'

* * *

My fingers fumble on the lock of the door, I can't control the shaking. Wrenching it open I climb the stairs, only making it half way up before my legs buckle and give out underneath me. I stay there, on that sixth step, breathing deeply and trying to calm myself. When I feel strong enough to walk again, I slowly continue my way up, bolting the door shut behind me. I slide down until I hit the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.

_Oh God, Audrey. What have you done? _

* * *

'_Audrey_! _Aud _– Oh thank God!' John sighs in relief as I peek my head around the bathroom door. 'Sherlock. _Sherlock_! She's here.' John hollers down the stairway. I dart back into the bathroom and quickly pull my wet hair into a bun. Wrapping the towel around my body, (twice, just in case) I brace myself for the lecture.

'Oh! _Hello_, Audrey.' Sherlock waves sarcastically. '_Forget something_?'

'Sherlock, listen, I'm sorry but I –' I try to explain but Sherlock cuts me off. '_What_ did I tell you to do? I told you to drop Catsby home, get a taxi and come_ straight_ to Janus Cars. Not drop Catsby home and have a bloody_ bath_!' He gestures to the towel covering my body.

'Now, look here!' I retort angrily. 'You don't know what I…' _Shit. What am I supposed to tell him? _

'Yes. I'm waiting.' Sherlock crosses his arms and taps one foot against the wooden floor. Lost for words, I look down at the ground, clutching the towel tighter.

'Don't _shout_ at her, Sherlock.' John scolds him and turns towards me. 'Now.' He smiles kindly. 'What happened earlier, eh?'

'Well I was on my way out the door, I swear!' I explain earnestly. 'But then I… W-well I…' I groan inwardly. _This is not happening. Time to pull the PMS card_. 'I…um..' John squints his eyes slightly, but remains quiet. _Oh for god's sake Aud, just say it! He's a flipping doctor!_ 'Well you see it's my time of… Eh, I had…cramps.' I finish quietly. John's face reddens slightly, but he nods understandingly. 'Ah, I see.'

Sherlock, who had been silently fuming all this time, bursts out angrily. 'Well I certainly don't!'

'Oh my God! My period, Sherlock!' I shout at him in exasperation. 'You know, that _thing_ women get every month.' I put my hands on my hips. 'Side effects include dizziness, nausea and _muscle cramps_.'

For once in his life, Sherlock seems at a loss for words.

'Ah..' He clears his throat. 'Right, I see.' He spins back around to face John and I. 'But you could have texted! How were we supposed to know you'd be… _indisposed_.'

I stare at him incredulously. 'Well in case you haven't noticed, _I'm not actually from here_. What? Did you think I could just "_pause_" being sucked into a book, grab my phone, and continue on my _jolly way_ to Baker Street?' My voice has risen to an almost shout. _Jesus, Aud. Maybe you are getting your period. _

I let out a deep breath, un-flustering myself. 'Now, if you excuse me, _I'm going to put some clothes on_.' I turn on my heel and flounce from the sitting room with all the dignity a half-naked girl can muster. Flopping down on the cold, hard tiles, I cradle my head in my arms. _What am I supposed to do? I can't tell them, it'll look suspicious. _

I think back on Moriarty's farewell. '_Now, remember Princess, this is our secret_.' He had whispered to me before letting me go. '_And don't you even think about tricking me._' He wagged his finger, grinning. '_I always know_.'

* * *

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	8. The Incredible Sulk

**Merci mille fois to each and every person who reviewed/followed/favourited. You are all beautiful people.  
**

* * *

'_AUDREY_'

'_Jesus Christ!' _I bolt upwards in bed, startled awake by the sudden bellowing. Sherlock leans against the wooden doorframe, inspecting his fingernails. '_What in the fucking fuck was that all about_?' I exclaim, flinging the duvet from my body.

'I tried knocking.' Sherlock replies, innocently shrugging his shoulders.

I stomp past him and into the bathroom. Violently squeezing an excessive amount of toothpaste onto my brush, I return to the bedroom to verbally attack him. 'Are you an almighty pain-in-the-arse on purpose, or do you practice it?' I snap.

'Just trying to be helpful.' Sherlock smirks.

_Oh I see, he's still pissed off about yesterday_. 'And you think depriving me of sleep is helpful?' I wave my toothbrush while saying this, spraying his dressing gown with little, white foamy flecks. He scowls at this, and takes a step backwards.

He sighs dramatically. 'I know you can't help the sudden, raging tantrums, given your current situation, but do try and suck it up.' He rolls his eyes. 'They're only cramps.'

At this point I'm frothing from the mouth. (_No, not in a weird fit of rage/mental patient way. I'm not that crazy_.) I raise a finger, motioning for him to wait. Popping back into the bathroom to spit the foaming toothpaste (which, quite frankly, had begun to become a slight choking hazard) into the sink, I round the corner and turn on him.

'_What did you just say?._' I whisper dangerously.

'What, has your hearing been affected now? I sai –'

'Oh no Curly Q,' I cut across him. 'I heard you.'

'You know, the sooner you're finished this… _womanly business_, the better. The last thing I need is some teary, hormonal teenage girl getting in the way of this case.' He raises his arms in defence. 'I don't want to have to say this but, I feel I mu – What are you doing with the alarm clock?' He eyes widen with understanding and he swiftly ducks, arms covering his head, as the red clock smashes into the wall where, until a second ago, his head had rested.

'_Jesus Audrey_!' Sherlock slowly rises, staring at me in disbelief. 'That could have seriously injured me!' He tightens his dressing gown in an affronted manner, looking practically _violated._

I shrug my shoulders. 'Yes well, that was kind of the point.'

He looks at me and narrows his eyes.

I look at him and blink.

He fixes a stray curl, smoothing it back.

I raise an eyebrow. _Damn, that was hot. _

'Well,' He begins with a little smile. 'When Dr Banner has returned to his normal state of being, kindly inform him that we shall be leaving the flat in approximately seventeen minutes.' And with that he flounces away, looking quite chuffed with himself.

'Oh_, good one_.' I shout after him. 'Really _witty._'

'_Bruce Banner…So I'm the Hulk now, am I? I'll show him the Hulk.._' I mumble angrily, pulling my hair down from its bun. I throw the wardrobe doors open and inspect its contents. Then deciding I have no clothes, I slam it shut. But realising I only have ten minutes to get ready, I fling it open again. Grabbing a short, tartan dress, I pull it over my head. Pairing the outfit with maroon tights and black patent brogues, I step back to admire my handiwork.

'_Daaamn girl you is lookin' hella fi_ –'

'AUDREY' Sherlock hollers at me from the kitchen. '_Stop looking at your reflection_!'

I huff and traipse out, dragging my feet long the ground as I do so, in hopes of marking the wooden floorboards. John is waiting at the door, holding it open like the proper little gentleman he is. Smiling, he turns towards me. 'You look lovely today, Audrey.' I glance down and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in an 'aw-shucks' kind of way. 'Thanks John.' I reply sweetly.

'No wonder you were looking at your reflection.' He raises his voice, looking pointedly at Sherlock. _'Oh shut up._' He snaps at us.

'Jesus..' John mumbles as he passes the incredibly aggravated man. 'What's got you in such a mood?'

You know the way cats brush themselves against dogs when they want to annoy them? All slinky and sneaky. Yeah. Well that's how I walk, no _sashay_ past his nibs. Minus the tail, obviously. Though it would have really added to the whole effect.

_I am a sultry vixen_.

* * *

Ten minutes later we're seated at a small, square table in some random café (to be honest, I have no idea where we are). I pull the steaming mug of tea towards me while Sherlock drums his fingers, eyeing John's breakfast with a look nothing short of revulsion.

'Feeling better?'

'Mmm.' John glances at Sherlock concernedly. 'You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?' He eats another forkful of food, then looks thoughtful. 'Has it occurred to you ...?'

'Probably.'

'No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you.'

'_Especially for youuu…_' I sing under my breath.

Sherlock sighs and smiles slightly. 'Yes, I know.'

John places his fork on the plate. 'Is it him, then? Moriarty?' He whispers the last word.

My stomach just about does a 360° somersault upon hearing that name. Sherlock, noticing my discomfort, narrows his eyes slightly.

'Perhaps.' He turns back to John. The pink phone at his elbow beeps a message alert. Switching it on, Sherlock awaits the newest surprise. The phone sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.

'Well that could be anybody.' Sherlock huffs, slightly disappointed.

John, on the other hand, smiles grimly as he recognises the face. 'Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly.' Rising from the table, he walks to the counter and switches on the small television hung on the wall. As John is flicking through the channels, Sherlock answers the ringing phone. I instantly recognise the voice.

Oh god. How could have forgotten this? The one with the poor old lady.

I notice Sherlock's expression – passive; unfeeling.

'Who was it this time?' John returns to join us. 'Jesus, Audrey, are you feeling okay?' He rests a hand on my shoulder.

'Hmm?' I am unable to meet his eyes, taken aback by the unexpected surge of sadness. _Come on, Aud. Pull yourself together, you knew this would happen._

'You're as pale as a sheet! Do you feel ill?' John presses the back of his hand against my forehead, checking my temperature.

'No, no it's fine.' I wave him off. 'Just felt a little dizzy is all.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine now.'

'No she's not.' Sherlock pulls his coat on, a troubled look on his face. 'If I'm not mistaken, the future does not look bright for Moriarty's newest hostage.'

_Not if I can help it.  
_

* * *

'Ah Sherlock, John. Good, you're here.' Lestrade glances up from reading a file. 'Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly.'

'Before you ask, no, Sherlock has not seen it.' I sidle up beside Lestrade. 'Hi Greg.'

'Audrey,' He turns to me with a smile. 'Wasn't expecting to see you here.'

I laugh. 'Well, what choice do I have?' Wherever those two muppets go, I follow.' Lestrade frowns at this, slightly confused.

_I shouldn't have said that. I should NOT have said that. _

'W-well what I mean is that, they're showing me around London while I'm staying here so… I would have no one else without them.' I shoot a dazzling smile at Lestrade, hoping to distract him with my womanly wiles. Well, more like girly wiles really. _Womanly_ suggests I ought to have curves and boobs. Both of which I am seriously lacking.

'Ah, I see.' Lestrade returns the smile, but does not look completely convinced.

'How deep is the wound?' I hear John asking.

Bending down to examine the now pale, purple laceration, I turn to John and try to keep a straight face. 'Hella.' I conclude.

'I don't – I don't understand that...' John begins as Lestrade throws Sherlock a 'what-is-wrong-with-this-girl' sort of look.

'Don't mind her, Inspector. She's menstruating.' He informs Lestrade absentmindedly.

'_Sherlock_!' I gasp and march over to the infuriating man, grabbing his elbow. 'A word. _Now_.' I hiss, dragging him out of the morgue.

'_What_? What is it?' He looks miffed. I stare up at him in disbelief. 'You actually thought there was nothing wrong in saying that, didn't you?' Sherlock opens and shuts his magnifying glass in impatience. 'Sherlock.' I look at him carefully. 'You do not go telling other people, _especially not men_, that I have my… thingymabob.'

'Why? It's a perfectly normal part of a woman's – ' He starts.

'Yes but most woman just like to keep that information private.' I interrupt him.

'Well "most women"' He makes the quotation sign with his fingers. 'Are prudes.'

I fold my arms. 'You know, I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass.'

He says nothing, staring at me sulkily.

…

….

…..

'So, are we done here?' I roll my eyes. _Cheeky sod_.

'Yes,' I motion towards the door tiredly. 'You may go.' And I shit you not, the fucknut _struts _past me.

* * *

One hour later, John and I find ourselves squashed between a rather heavy-set middle aged man and a hairless cat who seems to be sexually attracted to John's legs.

'I don't know what I'm going to _do_ now.' Kenny stares at John intensely.

'Right...' John states awkwardly. Fidgeting he tries to move further away from Kenny, but is unable to do so. 'Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?'

'No.' Kenny replies quickly. Still staring intensely at John, he moves closer. 'You fire away.'

The cat meows and trots across the carpet. John watches it and reaches up to rub the side of his nose. As he pulls his hand away, he suddenly realises something and quickly raises his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it as he quietly sniffs at his fingers and looks towards the cat again.

'John.' I blurt out, earning a dirty once-over from Kenny. 'Can I borrow your phone, please? I need to um… phone the photographer and see if he's on the way.' I give him the tiniest of nods, letting him know I've caught on.

* * *

'_Sherlock_.' I hiss into the phone as soon as I've made it out the front door. 'You've gotta get over here. Kenny's about to make a move on John any minute now and I don't think I'm strong enough to pull him off, I really don't.' I flex my arm muscles weakly. _Yep, definitely not._ I hear Lestrade's muffled laughter in the background. 'Oh and John has a theory.' I add. 'You're going to need to a camera. Like a proper photography camera, with the big lens and flashgun.'

'I'm on my way.' Sherlock reassures me and disconnects.

* * *

John chuckles delightedly as we walk down the drive and head towards the main road. 'Yes! Ohh, yes!'

Sherlock smiles the smile of a man about to crush dreams. 'You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat.'

'What?' John stops suddenly. 'No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.'

'Lovely idea.' Sherlock steps on the broken shards of said crushed dream.

'No,' John insists. 'He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have ...'

Sherlock interrupts him. 'I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother.'

John, unrelenting, chuckles again. 'He murdered his sister for her money.'

'No. It was revenge.'

'Revenge?' John states, perplexed. 'Who wanted revenge?'

'Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so ...'

John stops and turning towards Sherlock. 'No wait, wait. Wait a second.' I pat his arm consolingly. 'What about the disinfectant then, on the cat's claws?'

'Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed within an inch of its life. _You _smell of disinfectant now.' Sherlock waves at John's shirt. 'No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's internet records do, though.' John, disheartened, mumbles something about getting a cab, and marches ahead of us.

I sigh. 'You've really got to work on the whole "empathy" thing.' I nudge Sherlock's side as he watches John speed ahead.

'Empathy?' He looks down at me. 'I do not lack empathy, I just ignore it in favour of objective logic.' He says simply. 'I choose not to act upon any feelings of empathy – being sentimental doesn't make me solve the case more efficiently.'

'You know, Sherlock,' I link my arm through his, ignoring the protests. 'I do have a lot of respect for you.' He raises an eyebrow in response. 'That is, when you're not being a total asswipe.'

He snorts at this, and then frowns, as if remembering something. 'I received a very peculiar message earlier; on the pink phone.'

'Oh yes?' I ask.

'Mm. It said: "_To the Snow Princess_",' My stomach lurches. ' "_Don't forget my promise_."' Sherlock gauges my reaction. 'Any idea what that could mean?'

Tightening my grip on his arm, I laugh shakily. 'Haven't the foggiest.'

* * *

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	9. Swiggity Swooty

**Hello everyone! First off thank you so so much to all of my followers! Over 80 follows already, I can't believe it! You guys make me so happy. *cue Pharrell song* Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

**(Why am I using so many exclamation marks?)! **

**Voila:**

* * *

'And you're sure it's the house boy?' Lestrade asks Sherlock, leaning over him to reach the laptop. Opening 'The Science of Deduction', Sherlock types six words: _Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox_.

'Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections.' Sherlock turns to face John and Lestrade. 'My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases.' He points to the folder lying on the desk. 'He's been bulk ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.' Sherlock updates the post on his blog and almost instantly, the pink phone rings.

_This is your only chance, Aud_.

'_Wait_.' I grab the phone before Sherlock gets to it. 'Don't answer it.' All three men look at me as though I'd gone mad.

'_Audrey... What are you_ –' John starts in astonishment.

'Trust me.' I keep my eyes fixedly on Sherlock. 'If you answer the phone, the woman and building will blow up.' I grip the phone tightly. 'You need to go to Lakanal flats in Camberwell. She's on the fourth floor; flat number 384.'

'Audrey, are you sure -?' John begins again. 'I don't know about this…'

'_What_ is going on_?_' Lestrade exclaims in frustration.

'_Please_, Sherlock.' I cry frantically. '_Trust me._'

Sherlock jumps up from his seat. 'Do as she says.' He commands Lestrade.

'_Wha_ –'

'Now.' He barks, cutting across Lestrade, who races from the office.

'Donovan we need back-up, maximum back-up.' He shouts at Sally. 'Lakanal flats, Camberwell, _now_!'

* * *

"…_Scotland Yard were called at 5pm yesterday to reports of a bomb scare in Lakanal Flats, South London. _

_A number of flats had to be evacuated when a viable bomb was discovered in apartment 384. Further investigation has– "_

Sherlock lazily flicks the remote at the telly, muting the BBC news reporter. 'Quite the stunt you pulled there, Audrey.' Sherlock glances at me and smiles tightly. I sigh loudly from my seat in the kitchen and push it out from underneath the table, the legs of the chair screeching against the floorboards.

'Right,' I huff. '_For the fiftieth time, I had no other choice_. Moriarty was going to blow her brains out if you answered that phone.' I move to stand in front of Sherlock, crossing my arms. 'Once you answered that call, she would start describing him; his voice.' I stare intently at the stubborn man sitting across from me, trying to make him see the logic behind my act. 'Just once, Moriarty would have put himself in the firing line.'

'Yes, that's all very well; _saving lives_.' Sherlock waves a hand dismissively. 'But you've outsmarted Moriarty. And for that there will be dire consequences, I'm sure of it.' His looks troubled, eyebrows knitted together.

'_Jesus._' John shuffles in the doorway, laden down with bags and shivering from the cold.

Well, one bag. But laden sounds so much more dramatic so…yeah. Let's stick with that.

'It's bloody freezing out.' He places the small (don't look at me like that) Vodafone bag on the countertop.

I sidle over. 'Ooh what's this then?' Peering into the bag I spy a snazzy looking iPhone 5.

'Yours.' John says, smiling at me.

I gape open-mouthed like a codfish. 'Shut the front door.' John frowns slightly at my reaction, but continues to grin at me. 'I was due for an upgrade.' He explains. 'And, anyway, I'm not great with technology and you're in need of a phone so…' He trails off.

'Aw Homie J...' I stare at the doctors kind, if slightly flushed, face. 'You're too good to me.' Stepping forward, I wrap my arms around his middle and pull him into a bear hug. 'Ooof.' John grunts, my grip winding him slightly. He takes my hands and gently pries them from his back. 'I've put my number, Sherlock's and Lestrade's in already.'

I settle down on the sofa opposite Sherlock, switching on my new phone. 'Hey, S Bomb.' I call across the room. Sherlock throws me a withering look. I take it he's listening. 'Do you have an iTunes account?' He stares at me blankly. 'So that's a no, then…' He continues scrolling through his phone. 'Do you listen to music?' I ask, ignoring the fact that he's ignoring me. 'I play the violin.' He states without looking up. 'So yes, obviously I do.' I shake my head. 'No, I mean _proper_ music. Not songs that sound like they were composed in the Shire.'

If looks could kill, I'd be harpooned against the wall.

'Let's see… You're thirty-five now, which means you were born mid 70s.' He raises an eyebrow, sighing. 'Impressive skills of deduction you've got there.' I ignore him. _Sassy bastard_. 'So, you grew up listening to 80s music, I imagine.' He says nothing, which means I must be right.

_Audrey, you are on fiyah. _

'Do you know who the Police are?'

Sherlock sighs exasperatedly and sets his phone down. 'The Police were an English rock band formed in 1977. The band consisted of Sting, Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland.'

I snigger. 'That sounds like something straight from Wikipedia.' I narrow my eyes. 'Sherlock Holmes, did you just Google the Police?'

'Don't be stupid.' He huffs. 'Contrary to popular belief, I did actually have a childhood.' Throwing me a final dirty look he grabs his phone and begins scrolling again.

We sit in silence for a while until a sudden thought strikes me.

'Sherlock,' I begin. 'When Sting dies… Do we call him Stung?'

'_Shut up, Audrey_.'

* * *

'D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?' Lestrade asks as Sherlock snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

Sherlock bends down to examine the poor sod sprawled out on the river bank. 'Must be. Odd, though.' He holds up the pink phone. '...He hasn't been in touch yet.' He looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man's feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot with the magnifier.

'_Dude_, that is gross.' I squeak from behind John.

'Audrey?' Lestrade looks up, noticing me. 'I didn't know you were here.' He smiles warmly.

_Ah Greg, your powers of observation continue to astound me. _

'Hi Greg.' I wave before clamping both hands over my nose, the stench of rotting flesh turning my stomach.

'Stop being such a_ girl_, Audrey.' Sherlock chastises me.

'Oh I'm sorry.' I snap. 'But unlike you, I don't _get off_ on the aroma of _dead man feet_.'

Lestrade barks out a laugh and proceeds to unsuccessfully mask it as a cough.

Standing up and closing the magnifier, Sherlock looks across to John and jerks his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it. John squats down beside the body and reaches out to take hold of the man's wrist as Sherlock walks a few paces away to check his phone.

'Now that you're here, Audrey.' Lestrade touches my arm lightly. 'I just want to thank you for yesterday.' His brown eyes look into mine. _Swoon_. 'You helped save that woman's life.'

'Oh, it was nothing.' I toss my hair in a la-di-da sort of way.

'How _did _you know, though?' Lestrade frowns. 'Where the woman lived, I mean.'

'Er…' I glance at Sherlock, too preoccupied with his phone to notice my panicked state.

_Merde_.

'…He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer.' John interrupts, looking up at Lestrade. 'Did he drown?'

I let out the breath I was holding. _Thank you baby Jesus, for John_.

'Apparently not.' Lestrade replies. 'Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.' John nods. 'Yes, I'd agree.' He bends down to inspect the corpse again. 'In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition.;

'He's been in the river a long while.' Sherlock re-joins us. 'The water's destroyed most of the data.' Sherlock quirks a grin. 'But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a _fake._'

Lestrade and John share a 'the-fuck-is-he-on-about?' kind of look.

'Sherlock, you mad raisin.' I laugh, shaking my head. 'That's really random. Even for you.' I add.

'We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ...' Sherlock ignores his flabbergasted companions.

'Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait.' Lestrade splutters. 'What painting? What are you – _what are you on about_?'

'It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.'

'O-kay.' Lestrade begins uncertainly. 'So what has that got to do with the stiff?'

'Everything.' Sherlock's grin borders slightly on the psychotic. 'Have you ever heard of the Golem?'

'Gollum?' I speak up. 'The emaciated Dobby thing who has the hots for Fro-yo in Lord of the Rings?'

Silence.

I swear to God I live solely to be ignored.

'It's a horror story, isn't it?' John shakes his head. 'What are you saying?'

'Jewish folk story.' Sherlock corrects him. 'A gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world.' He points down to the body. 'That is his trademark style.'

'So this is a hit?' Lestrade asks.

'Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.'

'But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see ...'

Sherlock huffs impatiently. 'You do see – you just don't observe.'

_Ooh burn_.

'All right all right, girls, calm your tits.' I struggle to keep a straight face while saying this. John chuckles.

_Respect bro_.

'Sherlock?' John looks at him. 'D'you wanna take us through it?'

'Sherlock eventually steps back and points to the body.

'What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.'

'Tube driver?' Lestrade offers.

Sherlock throws him a look that blatantly says 'peasant'.

'Security guard?' John tries.

'More likely.' Sherlock points to man's arse. 'That'll be borne out by his backside.'

'Backside?!' Lestrade exclaims.

'_Swiggity swooty, I'm comin' for that booty_.' I mutter in a very (I now realise), rapey sort of way.

Sherlock gives me his best 'You're a freak' glare. 'Flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.'

At this point I kind of zone out and, since we're on the topic of booties, I take in the fine pieces of ass standing before me. Not that I would ever tell Sherlock, of course. Nope. Never. Not even as I lay dying.

Well, maybe I would then.

Imagine how that would play out?

"_Sh-Sherlock… one last thing.." _

"_Yes, my love." Sherlock whispers tearfully, cradling my head in his arms. _

"_I've never told you this but you… *cough splutter* … You've got the booty." _

'_AUDREY._' I jolt from my daydream, turning to see all three men staring at me, two with concerned faces. 'These daydreams of yours are getting steadily worse.' Sherlock starts towards the footpath. 'And even more annoying.' He calls back. I glare after him as he saunters up the river bank.

_Yep. He got the booty alright_.

* * *

'Stop!' Sherlock shouts and the cab driver pulls over. 'Back in a sec.' He tells John and I. Opening the car door, he vaults over the railing with grace like that of the gazelle.

'_Majestic._' I whisper appreciatively. John steps out of the car, takes one look at the railing, and with a silent but palpable, '_Nah_', he jumps back into the cab.

Moments later, Sherlock returns. 'What was that about?' John asks as he sits back.

'Investing.' Sherlock replies. 'Now we go to the Gallery.'

The taxi pulls up and Sherlock steps out. John and I begin to follow but Sherlock stops us. 'No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.'

'Okay.' John agrees while I stare sulkily at Sherlock.

_I wanted to dress up as a police officer_.

As the cab pulls away from the Gallery, my phone dings a message alert. Pulling it out, I make sure the screen is not visible to John.

_Looks like Little Red Riding Hood saved Grandma from the Big Bad Wolf after all. _

_Such a clever girl. _

_But you've made the Wolf angry now, naughty naughty, and you've made him miss dinner. _

_The Wolf is hungry. Now he has an even bigger appetite. _

I stare at the last line of the message, my hands beginning to shake.

"_All the better to eat you with, my dear."_

_M. _

'Who's that?' John asks beside. I nearly jump out of my seat.

'Er… It's Lestrade – with the address.' I lie quickly.

'God.' John laughs slightly, not noticing. 'That was quick.' I nod and smile in reply, turning to stare out the window.

_Oh Aud. You have well and truly done it this time_.

* * *

**Thank you to reviewers: **_tula453, Sherlocked77, pinkyndx, Music Box Physicist, AdorkableAud, TimeMistress3722, alpacaamazing, Qwuirkykeyboard, lially, rycbar15 and Rockysay'shi _**. Please leave a review if you liked this chapter, I love reading them and they really motivate me to continue! Until next time. **


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